


Inside These Lines

by JudeAraya



Series: Sons and Lovers [3]
Category: Glee
Genre: AU, Angst, Future Fic, M/M, healing fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-28
Updated: 2013-06-28
Packaged: 2017-12-16 12:18:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 24,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/861960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JudeAraya/pseuds/JudeAraya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the wake of Kurt’s mistakes, both men struggle to fix their relationship and move past what’s happened. They learn the hard way, though, that forgiveness takes more than forgetting, that trust requires more than just time to rebuild.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The first fight is a shock, which is kind of shocking in and of itself. Later, curled up and alone, by the small window overlooking a dirty alley between their building and the neighboring one, Kurt will wonder how it is that he didn’t see it coming.

Because fighting with Blaine is one thing, something they’ve done before. They’ve been together for five years, it’s expected. And maybe they don’t fight as much as other couples, preferring to talk things through before they boil over, but the do fight. They’re both opinionated and strong willed and in Blaine’s case, possessing of an impressive temper most often held carefully in check.

But this fight, this fight was a storm. It was sudden and in the aftermath Kurt can only struggle with the overwhelming feeling of being blindsided, which in turn only makes him feel stupid because really, how could he have expected anything else? Right now, though, he’s capsized, which really, drowning in stormy waters? It’s such a trite cliche, Kurt has to roll his eyes. And it’s not even that true; once he’s calmed down, regulating his shuddering breaths with exercises he’s learned in school, once he’s cleaned up his face and is no longer huddled like a refugee on the cold floor of the apartment, Kurt isn’t lost. He’s not confused or even shocked any more. He is tired.

Because he knows, this is just the beginning. They’ve just crossed over the starting line of this marathon, and in a way it’s ok. The ring he gave Blaine is a promise to keep going, to keep fighting, to keep working and loving until they can be them again. Until this can be over. Kurt knows, because he’s nothing if not almost stupidly stubborn, that he’ll do it. That he’ll fight every day for Blaine, for them. For that feeling of them that he’s broken. It’s not a question of how (because he has no idea) or of when (as long as it takes). It’s not even a question.

But it is going to be work. It’s going to be hard, and he’s not even the one having to forget. Having to learn to trust again. Kurt’s job is simpler- learning to live with the regrets he has, finding a way to forgive himself for hurting the person he loves most in the world. Finding some way to withstand Blaine’s anger and accusations and jealousy. It might be a simpler task, he thinks, but it’s definitely not easy. Kurt has never been a shrinking violet, he’s emotional and often scathing, cutting, quick to defend himself with hard words. This, this thing between them, is a challenge. For every hurtful accusation (“God, Kurt if you just wanted to fuck around with other guys why are you still here? I’m not blind. You were all over him.”) Kurt has to stifle himself, work hard to keep his words in.

He knows he has no right, no right to any defense other than the truth (“Blaine, you know me, come on, you’re angry. I’m so sorry, so so sorry, baby I love you. You know I don’t want anyone else.”). He has no ground to stand on while Blaine yells. There’s a beautiful orange glass bowl breaking as it hits the floor, the sound of glass rending is quiet when compared to the sheer volume of Blaine’s accusations. There’s a knee jerk sort of anger, burning and shameful, that Blaine could even make these accusations, and Kurt’s internal monologue is weary, worn down as it reminds him that Blaine has every right. Because even though Kurt could never want anything else like he wants Blaine, he was the one to kiss someone else. He was the one to break that trust. And he can’t think of any way to fix it that doesn’t involve time and patience; weathering Blaine’s anger and hurting and keeping a stiff upper lip until it’s over.

So he cleans up in the silent apartment, a rarity; the still air is a stark contrast to the usual noise of their laughing banter, Kurt’s vocal exercises while Blaine fools around on the keyboard, ignoring the thumping protests from the neighbors. Even alone Kurt is never quiet, playing the radio and signing along quietly to fill the void. Silence makes him feel itchy and out of place, makes him want to drop a book or cough, just to break apart the sober air, break into it and start filling it with the reassurance that he’s ok. In the too quiet moments, Kurt can only ever hear his thoughts, which tend to spin and spin out of control when not tempered and mostly, Kurt just needs to be. Needs to exist in a place where he is ok, and loved, and so happy, without examining how much he had to do to get there.

The apartment is stunningly quiet now. He moves carefully; growing into his limbs as a man he’s only become more elegant and lithe, something he’s acutely aware of as Blaine has spent many moments, early mornings still sleep drenched and late nights redolent of laughter and wanting, quick moments stolen in between classes and rehearsals and jobs, telling him. Laying Kurt out and tracing the lines of his skin with fingers and tongue and whispering words of praise and worship until Kurt is saturated in love, skin humming because he’s so turned on he can barely move.

It’s been four weeks since their engagement. Four weeks since Kurt has felt that familiar thrumming of love and home, at peace next to and inside Blaine’s body. And this is maybe the biggest reason why the fight should never have caught him by surprise. But it’s easy, in the maelstrom of their lives, to turn and look the other way. For a week it was the focus on Burt. It was the distraction of not knowing what would happen with his father, their father. And when they got the call, late into a beautiful New York morning, Carole laughing and crying because Burt was fine, it wasn’t cancer after all, Kurt turned to Blaine and hugged him hard.

And they’d made love; or something close enough, but it had been different. There had been something missing, something just a little strange about Blaine, who seemed both a little frantic and a little absent.

It had only gotten worse from there, which should have alarmed Kurt. But there were finals, and the hectic run of rehearsals leading up to the opening night of the musical. There was that awkward, so awkward dinner with Blaine’s parents who had been passing through on a business trip. So when Kurt had collapsed in bed, turning to run a light hand over Blaine’s shoulder and down, down, until it was skirting the crease between Blaine’s ass and thigh, he didn’t think. He didn’t stop to realize that in the past weeks, he’d been the only one to initiate contact. He made excuses for Blaine’s response, somewhat vacant, because yes, they were both tired and it had been a difficult month.

Kurt realizes now, it’s so clear that he can’t help but close his eyes, biting his lip to keep the tears in. Things have just been so off between them, and maybe they’ve both realized all along; somewhere along the line they started pretending things were ok when they weren’t. Blaine’s explosion this afternoon was a testament to this, to simmering anger or resentment or hurting that he’d been holding onto, holding in, and Kurt knows, he knows Blaine would never have reacted the way he had, if it weren’t for this.

And Blaine is somewhere, out wandering the city maybe, or sitting on Jan’s couch, angry and frustrated and if Kurt knows him, beating himself up. Because Blaine hates losing control, has always hated his own temper. The Blaine Kurt had met in high school, so proper and self-assured, was a mask. A way to feel in control, to feel like he was better than his own emotions, unstable and unsure. Blaine had grown out of that- his need to put up a front and pretend to be something he wasn’t. Even so, it was rare for him to lose his temper, to forget himself in anger. He never forgot to keep working at keeping it in check. And he never stopped berating himself for every time he let it spiral out of control.

Kurt stoops to pick up scattered items, ignoring the uneasy way his stomach is knotting and tightening; outwardly he’s graceful and careful and contained. He’s working around the image of Blaine, Blaine’s temper that Kurt has only ever really seen twice in five years; Blaine sweeping the contents off their hall table, mail and keys and that small depression era glass bowl that only ever collected flotsam, skittering and breaking all over their floor. It’s an image that has Kurt feeling tied up, strings of remorse and hurting (hurting because Blaine was hurting, remorse because Blaine was hurting thanks to him) snarling and tormenting him. It’s an image that makes him want to hold Blaine, to tell him it’s ok, and that he understands, to whisper, god, please it’s ok baby, I deserved every word. I deserve every angry word you have for me.


	2. Chapter 2

When Blaine leaves the apartment, he has no clear goal in sight. He thinks for a moment he might go see Jan, but quickly quells the thought. He’s still too angry, skin and fingers vibrating and trembling and god, he hates feeling out of control. He thinks resentfully of Kurt, laughing coyly while Mark made terrible jokes. Blaine is sort of ashamed but still angry enough to feel justified in his anger. Surely anyone could see the way Kurt was skirting that fine line between friendly and too friendly.

It’s this thing, this Kurt thing, that he always does. The way he tilts his head, exposing that length of neck, his hand playing with the skin just below his collar; it’s invitation and temptation and fuck. Blaine has to stop, running his hands through his hair. Never in their years together has he felt this; this burning sort of ugliness. This distrust and jealousy.

But that’s old news, he reminds himself bitterly. It’s old news because never in five years could he imagine that Kurt would cheat on him. That he’d find pictures, pictures that he can’t help but stare at now, vivid and not quite focused enough on the small screen of his cell phone. Pictures the capture in detail Kurt’s long limbs, lose and pliant, his lips flush against another man’s.

There is some rational part of his brain, some small part that wants nothing to do with the display of anger and the loss of temper from earlier. It’s the part of his brain that says he’s forgiven Kurt. That begs him to put the phone away, to delete the pictures because their existence is a scab he cannot stop himself from picking at. This rational Blaine knows Kurt wasn’t flirting, knows that Kurt is naturally coy and sexy when he’s unguarded, but never cruel or teasing.

Blaine frowns, staring up at the sky which is a startling hue, sunset is laying slowly over the city. His chest aches, whether from yelling or from the weight of forgiveness he’s promised but can’t seem to deliver on, and that ache is a hard reminder. That they have a long road ahead of them, and he’s not making it any easier. He doesn’t know how to help it though, the way Kurt just does things that get under his skin. The way Kurt is too good looking, too friendly, too Kurt.

Shame is heavy on him; Blaine feels small and unkind, recalling the look on Kurt’s face as his favorite bowl had shattered on the floor. Blaine is leaning against a brick wall by their favorite café where he plays open mic nights occasionally. He studies the clouds moving across the sky, thinking about his temper and wondering how he can stop this happening in the future. He’s ok with being upset; Blaine is sure Kurt wouldn’t begrudge him the right after what has happened. But he’s let it build for far too long. Swallowing moments of anger or frustration or jealousy that he shouldn’t have pushed away.

The timing just never seemed right. Things moved so quickly- their engagement, Burt’s health in precarious balance, finding their own balance once they’d learned that Burt would be ok, trying to find some solace and comfort in and with each other. So many times that Blaine should have addressed the elephant in the room but chose not too, telling himself that this was what was meant by forgiveness. That this was the face of forgiving someone you love for hurting you.

In retrospect, he thinks, this is nothing short of insanity. Blaine knows, he knows Kurt would accept and understand that he’s having a hard time. Hard time forgetting, moving past what Kurt did. Why then, does he feel the need to keep himself in check, to be more careful with Kurt on a daily basis than with himself? All that’s come from this is a truly epic temper tantrum that’s both embarrassing and unnecessary. The whole thing makes him exhausted, and really it’s kind of ridiculous. In an effort to spare Kurt’s feelings (Kurt who cheated on him, he reminds himself), he’s stifled his anger to the point that he can’t even control himself. Which is neither acceptable nor sound in any way.

As his thoughts start to coil, growing more confused instead of less, Blaine pushes off of the wall, wandering the streets of his neighborhood as twilight falls on the city. Everything seems too much- the anger that hasn’t dissipated, the jealousy he can’t deny, the need to prove that Kurt is his- which is primal and sort of embarrassing because if anything Blaine Anderson is a gentleman, not a Neanderthal. But still, the need is there, to take Kurt, to bruise him and lay him open and own him. To love him through the hurting, to hurt him with that love. To lose himself with Kurt in a way that might make him forget, for those few moments, just how much he has been hurt as well. How close he feels to losing it all.

So he walks. He walks and tries to find some peace, some calm. To find some reason or rationality. He walks until his feet blister and although most of these needs, desperate and primal, don’t leave him, he promises he won’t go home until the anger does. Until the shaking in his fingers and the need to yell and enjoy the way Kurt’s face flinches goes away. He can accept almost everything else, but not that. Because if there is one thing he’s promised himself, it’s the promise that Blaine will never hurt the people he loves just because it makes him feel better.

His feet carry him forward steadily, tapping staccato into the pavement, step after step of dissipating energy, unwinding anger, until he can breath again. With the anger gone, he can feel so much more, everything else that’s been damming up inside, and he can’t do anything but accept it all. It’s all he can do to let go of the anger, and he’s not going to hold himself accountable for much more than that. He’ll go home and he’ll apologize and there’s a good chance he might find some other way under Kurt’s skin where he belongs like a brand, but it won’t be with anger.


	3. Chapter 3

Kurt tries to wait up for Blaine in the silent living room, forcing himself to page through back issues of Vogue. Around ten he gives up, tossing the magazine on the floor. He spends fifteen minutes staring at his phone, willing it to signal an incoming call or text. It’s almost summer and the windows are open, the air outside thick and heavy, it coils into the too warm apartment. They have a window unit in their bedroom, but it’s off now.

Despite the heat, Kurt is huddled on the couch, under a favorite blanket. He’s given up on his phone and is staring instead toward the door. Eventually he nods off, fighting sleep as long as he can. The day he went with Finn, searching for the right rings, picking fussily through several jewelry stores, he had promised himself. Promised to never go to bed angry, to never go to bed without the reassurance of them, solid and heavy in his heart.

He’s not sure he can hold Blaine to a promise he’s never made, but he’ll be damned if he is going to get into that bed alone without him. Without the assurance that even if things aren’t ok right now, they will be, sometime. Kurt can’t let himself think it, won’t, but it’s in the back of his mind, the niggling idea that Blaine might not be coming back. And fuck, it hurts to think that and no, no, he’s never getting into that bed again if that’s the case.

He’s jolted awake by the door, scrambling in the near dark to stay on the couch, heart hammering against his ribs. Blaine is climbing on top of him before Kurt can begin to speak, still thick and incoherent with bad sleep and worse dreams. And if he thought he was drowning before, it’s nothing, nothing compared to this. He’s swamped in Blaine, whose mouth seems to be everywhere, hands rough and possessive and pushing. Kurt can hear buttons, popping and pinging against the floor, can feel his head and neck, pressed at wrong angles into the sofa. He wants to speak, to ask and to seek some sort of understanding that this isn’t goodbye, that this is I still love you or it will be ok.

But he doesn’t, he doesn’t speak, just presses his hips up to let Blaine tear his pants down, so much rougher than he’s ever been. Skims his fingers over and under Blaine’s damp clothing (it must be raining, he thinks from somewhere inside, somewhere observing and not quiet approving). He’s mapping the Braille of Blaine’s skin, looking for answers and reaching desperately up and into him, ignoring that voice, that stupid voice that wants him to stop, to think and to talk and to talk and not just be here, tangled into every one of Blaine’s gorgeous limbs.

Blaine’s hands are sandpaper on his sensitive skin, nails digging into Kurt’s thighs, mouth sloppy over his cock, just the slightest hint of teeth and Kurt’s moans are lost into his fingers, fisted into his mouth. When Blaine bites, just at the crease of his thigh, Kurt cries out, hands on Blaine’s head, and he’s not sure if he wants Blaine to stop or needs him to continue. When Blaine looks up, over the line of Kurt’s trembling body, his eyes are too bright, wicked smile a little misplaced against the flushed satin of Kurt’s stomach.

Kurt can’t stop him, wouldn’t if he wanted too, opening his legs and his heart and letting Blaine in, feeling Blaine’s fingers inside him, gentle at least in this, even as Blaine’s mouth comes up to his, biting and tearing into him. Blaine’s fingers are hard up against his prostate, too hard and it’s way too much for Kurt who is begging Blaine to please stop, please do something and Blaine is pushing him, hands quick and just shy of careless,

“Hands and knees Kurt.” His whisper is filthy, voice almost unrecognizable and Kurt is not ashamed of the hot spear of lust that spikes through him. Soon enough he’s on his knees, face buried in the couch cushions, broken cries muffled and Blaine is inside, so so deep inside him and there’s a second, a split second when Kurt freezes, tense and afraid because this is so much, being with Blaine like this is always almost too much for him.

When he freezes, he feels Blaine stop as well, and they stay joined and unmoving. Then Blaine’s hand is gentle on his back, and he’s leaning over, pressing Kurt into the couch, but gently, hands tracing down Kurt’s arms and around his clenched fists. They don’t move and they don’t speak but Kurt breathes easier, sighing as he feels Blaine shifting from anger to gentleness, feeling himself relaxing into this sort of trust. Blaine close like this, Blaine comforting like a blanket over his skin is a reminder that Blaine would never hurt him, no matter how angry he is. Blaine will never push him, or force him, and Blaine will only ever ask what Kurt is willing to give. And so he does, giving him everything he can in this moment, every scrap of his self that Blaine will take.

And in the aftermath, when he’s spread, trembling and bruising and wrecked, over Blaine, he can’t stop it. Can’t stop his traitorous brain, and what was a mumbling worry is now a cacophony of anxiety and wondering. It’s too quiet here, much too quiet between them where Blaine is breathing unsteady, hands still holding Kurt’s hips too tight (where Kurt will find more bruises the next morning).

Kurt breathes once, then again, and the words in his head are so loud, they are so loud but he doesn’t know how to start, where to start so he just breathes and thinks about the text messages Blaine used to send him in high school and how silly they were, how young and naive to think that a simple word like courage would be enough to overcome homophobia and assault and loneliness. But they did, and it was, and he grabs hold of that idea, holds on hard.

“What was that?” His voice is so quiet, so much younger than he feels. His body is a live wire, strung taught, and he’s sure that pressed the wrong way he’ll snap. He’s bracing to hear the words, now that it’s over, afraid to hear that this really is over, that this was some sort of goodbye they promised themselves they’d never say.

“I’m sorry I lost my temper.” Blaine’s fingers are gentle against his back, tapping the knobs of his spine carefully. He speaks softly, words spilling over Kurt, warm and tender and somehow, Kurt feels closer to Blaine inside those words than he did in any part of what came before them. He feels his body begin so sink and fold into Blaine, begins to feel the way their edges blur and dissolve into one another and into the couch.

It’s either very late or very early and he’s mentally trying to shush his brain, which is insisting that this doesn’t count as talking. Because for the first time in a month, he can feel Blaine, really feel him, nestled in under Kurt’s skin where he belongs, in the space where they are KurtandBlaine. They can talk later- he promises himself they will, as he drops into sleep, fingers carefully tracing the fragile skin inside Blaine’s elbow and down to his fingers where they tangle together and hold on.


	4. Chapter 4

The next time they fight, Kurt is ready. He’s been braced, counting the seconds and minutes and molecules of air between them. Cataloguing the silence and straining and the way they are both still pretending, a little, that everything is ok. Kurt tells himself it’s because they both trust that it will be. That they both know there’s a finish line here somewhere, a ribbon snaking across some distant road and soon enough Blaine will take his and together they will sprint into it, breaking through, and it will be done.

Kurt tells himself this, reminds himself and holds himself to this, the idea that he trusts in them. In their love and the strength of their relationship. For every time he tries to talk, tries to push reluctant words into an even more stubborn silence, for every time he has to bite down, hard, on his lip, wondering when Blaine is going to stop walking away, stop pretending he can’t hear Kurt, he reminds himself. We love each other. It’s going to be ok.

But really, deep down, he’s not sure. Because Blaine won’t talk, Blaine won’t listen, Blaine hasn’t done more than continue to sweep the whole incident under a metaphorical carpet somewhere in his brain. And Blaine is so angry. He’s frustrated and holding Kurt’s actions close, Kurt knows that he’s just letting them fester and poison everything. And he’s just so fucking helpless, he can’t make Blaine forgive him. He can’t force Blaine to forget, can’t take the hurt away. He can’t summon trust that was once there and has been wrecked.

Blaine visits Kurt at work occasionally. He brings in coffee during Kurt’s break, or just stops in and browses, shooting Kurt amused glances as Kurt struggles with how to tactfully inform his customer that no, those pants do not flatter her in any way. It’s been two months since their last fight, two months of long silences and too few touches and Kurt is so lonely for Blaine, so desperately misses his sweet and tender boy that he’s reached a point where he’d take anything he can get from Blaine.

So when he sees Blaine breezing through the shop door fifteen minutes before the end of his shift he feels his face splitting with a bright smile. Blaine hasn’t visited him in weeks; a visit before the end of work usually means Blaine has something romantic or fun planned. Kurt mouths a quick hello, tilting his head down at the pile of clothing draped over his arms, an apology for not coming over for a discreet kiss. He’s helping a completely clueless businessman with suits, has been for 45 minutes now, and god he cannot wait to tell Blaine about his day because seriously? How does one become successful in the business world and have no idea that that cut of suit is completely unsuitable for that particular body shape?

Kurt chats his customer up cheerfully, keeping tabs on Blaine, who is moving slowly through the men’s section. Blaine seems serious, hardly meeting Kurt’s eye, and Kurt is starting to feel a sick kind of anxiety because he never really knows where he’s standing with Blaine these days. He’s never quite sure where the line is, only that one day he’ll cross it and more than just his prized depression era glass will suffer as a consequence. 

He’s not sure whether to be grateful or apprehensive when he finally manages to get his customer sorted out, but he chooses to be optimistic. It’s not a natural fit for his sarcastic nature, but approaching Blaine on the defensive seems like a surefire way to create a problem, should he be lucky enough to have been misreading his fiance’s body language.

“Hey.” Kurt bounces out from behind a display of sweaters, leaning in to kiss Blaine’s cheek. Blaine smells delicious- his usual homey smell mixed with something like pumpkin spice; Kurt leans in and sniffs Blaine’s sweater playfully, “Have you been baking?”

“Yeah.” Blaine is leaning back, out of Kurt’s personal space, and Kurt has to bite back a sigh. So much of him is longing for an easy touch, for a simple moment. But Blaine is already turning toward the door, and Kurt can only follow, shouldering his messenger bag and bracing himself. He has no clue what the fuck he might have done wrong this time, but whatever it is, Kurt has to remind himself to stay calm. It’s getting harder and harder, staying calm and being the only level headed one. Yes, he messed up. But it’s become frustrating, trying to figure out what upsets Blaine, trying to dodge arguments before they happen. And it’s a wasted effort, as Blaine seems to find plenty of reasons to get upset with him no matter what he does.

Maybe this will be good, he tells himself. Maybe if we talk things through we can clear the air and things might… his train of though abandons him. He’s not sure what he can expect- if he can hope for things to go back to normal? For things to get better? All he knows is that this, this space and strangeness between them hurts. It’s cold and Blaine feels so far from being his lover right now. Blaine doesn’t even feel like a friend, which cuts so deep, because at their core they have always been best friends. This is what Kurt most treasures about their relationship.

“So are you working on some sort of new incentive program?” Blaine’s voice is sarcastic, which doesn’t fit him well. Kurt can feel a sort of itch between his shoulders; he wishes they weren’t out on the street, where he feels exposed and raw.

“What do you mean?” Kurt works to keep his voice neutral, hoping to deflect what he feels is going to be a fight soon enough.

“I figured they must have you working on a new sort of sales pitch; if you flirt enough, they’ll buy more?” And now Blaine’s voice is not only bitter, but loud.

“Blaine,” Kurt tries to stop him, having to tug on Blaine’s arm harder than he’d like. When Blaine stops and turns his face is set, lines of anger and frustration clear. “Can we please not do this here?” Kurt pitches his voice low. He’s working to keep himself from getting annoyed. The last thing he wants is to have to air this kind of laundry in public. Kurt might be naturally dramatic, but this, this feels too close, to emotional and he just cannot do this anywhere but with Blaine, alone. But he can feel his face, the look he knows he gets when angry, and somewhere inside, he’s really kind of pissed.

Blaine has turned away, biting his lip, and Kurt can see him struggling to rein in his temper. Finally, he nods and turns without speaking, heading toward the subway. They don’t speak as they travel home, sitting in a block of silence, heavy and thick and pressing on Kurt. His stomach is tight with dread and a little bit of anger and frustration. The silence follows them up the stairs, echoing with the noise of their footsteps, and into their apartment. It lingers as Kurt unlaces his boots, stomach hurting with anticipation and uncertainty.


	5. Chapter 5

The sound of a cupboard being slammed shut cleaves the silence, and Kurt finds himself facing Blaine’s back. He’s filling a glass with water from their fridge, movements precise and angry and Kurt wishes, oh he yearns to be able to make this better with a joke, or a kiss. With anything he’s learned through five years of loving and fighting. But all the little things that always work with Blaine won’t work right now.

Kurt watches Blaine drink his water, standing in the small galley kitchen, shoulders tense and god, so furious. He stands and doesn’t speak and Kurt feels like he might go a little crazy waiting.

“Blaine.” His voice is affection and reproach, a tone he’d use any day. Any normal day; today it is obviously the wrong tone altogether because Blaine sets the glass down with a crack and Kurt is surprised to see that the glass doesn’t shatter on impact. Forcing himself not to flinch, because he is not now nor had he ever felt threatened by Blaine, Kurt tries again.

“Blaine, come on, what’s going on. Talk to me, please?” He hates to feel like he’s begging. He can see that Blaine is breathing; slow, steady breaths. To calm his temper, Kurt hopes.

“I just don’t like to see you flirting like that.” Blaine’s voice is low. He sounds troubled and hurt, but not angry, really. Flirting? Kurt can’t help but frown because he doesn’t remember flirting with anyone, but honestly, he’s been told he can come off as flirtatious before. Kurt’s always thought of flirting as something one does with intention, something born of interest; everything else aside, there was no intention or interest anywhere in that shop this afternoon. Anywhere at all really, outside of this man in front of him.

But he isn’t sure how to answer, or what he can say, because he knows that this isn’t an isolated argument. Blaine has never before been bothered by the way Kurt interacts with other people, never shown insecurity or jealousy in response to something Kurt has done. Before he’d kissed Jason, that is.

Kurt bites his lip; everything is different now. Before, there was no reason for Blaine to mistrust him, to wonder or worry. But he’d given him a reason; hell reasons. Kissing someone else, keeping Burt’s crisis to himself, leaving their apartment to get wasted alone- leaving Blaine to find out about Burt from Finn hours later. There is a part of Kurt that wants to feel like Blaine is being unreasonable, holding too hard to a mistake that he regrets so much. The part of him that insists on focusing on the kiss, like he knows Blaine is; the way they both pretend that the rest was forgiven and forgotten with the rings.

He’s wondered, maybe, if this isn’t part of the problem. Blaine’s jealousy and anger all seem to stem from insecurity, the worry that Kurt would cheat again. Which Kurt deserves, even if a tiny, bitter part of his heart wishes Blaine could just see into it, because he’d never, ever cheat again. Sex and love, in his world, are connected in ways that cannot be unconnected. What happened was such an aberration, so far outside the norm. There are days when just the memory of kissing someone else is enough to have Kurt turning the water temperature up in the shower, trying to cleanse his skin and memory. But what sits between them is so much more more than the kiss- it’s trust and intimacy and friendship, all damaged by his actions. And he’s too afraid to bring it up, to push the issue with Blaine, because he can’t. Kurt has no ground to stand on here; no right to snap back that Blaine knows better. No right to push Blaine when he so obviously isn’t ready to be pushed.

“I wasn’t flirting.” It’s lame, but it’s all he can think of. It’s redundant and expected but it’s all he has, the only part of this that Blaine will let him address. Last time he tried to bring up Burt it had gone disastrously, with Blaine leaving the apartment for a full night, coming home cold and unresponsive. The week following that aborted and ill conceived conversation had been painful and fruitless. It feels like defeat, fighting around the real problem, but Kurt is at a loss for what else to do at this point. When Blaine snorts it’s derisive and Kurt has to work hard to keep his own temper in check. He’s fucking doing his best, and god, Blaine is just making it so hard.

“Blaine.” Well, maybe his temper isn’t all that checked, if his tone is any indicator, “Come on, really. You know me. What’s this really about?” One more try cannot hurt, nothing else is helping, he thinks.

Blaine’s laughter is unexpected, and when he turns, there’s a look of disgust on his face,

“Fuck off Kurt. Really. I know you? I know you?” And now Kurt is flinching, and failing to keep his voice down,

“Yes. You do. Don’t tell yourself you don’t. I’m the same person I was before. I made a mistake. But you know me. I’d never hurt you on purpose. Even if,” His hands wave a little wildly, “Even if I wanted to flirt with someone, which I wouldn’t, especially a middle aged man with terrible taste in clothing and absolutely no sense of humor, thank you very much- even if I wanted to flirt with someone, why would I do it in front of you? To hurt you? Why would I do it now, when you’re already looking for excuses to be mad?” And, oh, he knows that this is probably not appropriate logic for the situation, but he’s frustrated, and tired of this argument.

“Ok, so what you’re saying is that you’d do it behind my back?” Blaine’s voice is vicious with sarcasm; he’s pulling his phone out of his pant pocket, hands shaking, “Wait, let me see if I have any texts labled ‘Kurt flirting behind my back’, I’ll just file them along with ‘Kurt fucking kissing fucking Jason while I sit at home alone wondering if he’s dead-“

“Blaine-“ Kurt jumps in, still angry but also somehow tremulously close to tears because, god this is so broken. They are so broken right now and anger can’t hold out against the bone deep fear that no matter how hard they fight, they won’t be able to fix it, “Please. Please stop. Come on. You know me.” It’s imploring and soft now, the way he says it. “I love you, please, please. You know I love you. We’re here,” He holds out a hand, his ring plain and heavy on a shaking finger, “Because you know this. I get that you’re still mad, and hurt. But can we just talk about it?”

Blaine is looking away, then walking away, circling around the couch and scrubbing his hands through his hair. Kurt can hear him, muttering to himself before he spins to face Kurt.

“I just- I just can’t…everywhere you go, I see it now. I never used to worry that you would leave me for someone else, that you might want someone else. But…I can see it now, all I have to do is turn on my phone and it’s there, and I don’t know how to go back. I don’t know how to look at you and see it, not picture it.” Blaine sits, sighing. His voice is quieter. Through his tears, Kurt watches as Blaine leans his head back, closing his eyes. Moving carefully, Kurt lowers himself at the other end of the couch. They sit in silence for a while; the apartment is darkening around them, muffled city sounds marking the still air.

“I miss you.” Kurt is still crying, just a few tears. He’s not looking at Blaine; like him he has his head tipped back, only his eyes are open, staring at an old water mark on the ceiling that has always bothered him. His words fall into the deep silence, unanswered. The stain on the ceiling kind of looks like Goofy, which is a strange associate to make, but once he sees it, he can’t unsee it, even with the tears in his eyes. When he hears Blaine sigh, Kurt turns his head, and sees that Blaine is watching him.

“I know. I miss you too, but-“ Kurt closes his eyes; he wonders when words got to be so heavy that they could hurt. “It’s all I can see Kurt. I close my eyes and I can picture you kissing him. I’m talking to you about breakfast and inside everything aches because you kissed him. I try to kiss you and it’s like he’s still on your lips.”

Kurt is leaning forward, head in his hands, and all he wants is to crawl over to Blaine, to bury himself in Blaine’s warmth and find some way to make him feel how much he loves him. Find some way to erase all of those things. But all he can do is cry incoherently, and apologize again and again; until somewhere in his hysteria he feels Blaine’s hand, lightly squeezing his shoulder. His breathing is erratic and his body seems to be shaking, hard and he wants to lean back, to press into the weight of Blaine’s hand, but he can’t, he shouldn’t even be the one crying, it’s fucking unfair because he’s the one who hurt Blaine. It seems pale, his apologies, but it’s all he has, this broken mantra I’m sorry, I’m so sorry Blaine, I love you and I am so sorry.

When Blaine’s hand slips from his shoulder, tugging Kurt’s hand away from his face, he’s surprised to feel Blaine’s fingers, sliding between his own; to feel Blaine’s body warm next to his as they lean back against the couch. Blaine’s head is on his shoulder and when Kurt looks, he can see the tears on Blaine’s face, and he wants to dry them, wants to run the pad of his thumb against the rise of Blaine’s cheek bones. But he can’t let go, won’t let go of Blaine’s hand. Unwilling to move, he breathes carefully, exhaling into this sort of peace they’ve created; this space where everything is still far from ok but at least they're here together.

“I love you.” His voice cracks painfully, throat full of tears, and Blaine’s hand squeezing his is painful and reassuring.

“I know. I love you too.”


	6. Chapter 6

The next six months are a learning process, some sort of fucked up learning process that Kurt never quite gets the hang of. Most days he feels like he’s either walking a tightrope or trapped on a roller coaster. Some days, he’s sure it’s both at the same time and the vertigo threatens to overcome him. For months, Kurt tiptoes around the subject, treading a fine line of anxiety and care. He understands now that the only thing he can give Blaine is time, and love. But it is hard, he struggles constantly; worried that he might say or do something, anything, to make Blaine feel insecure or threatened. He stays by Blaine’s side when they go out with friends, tries harder not to seem flirtatious, to give Blaine extra affection. Kurt has never been comfortable being affectionate and open in public, but he feels a need from Blaine, a searching for assurance; it’s overpowering and heart rending, and he knows he’ll do anything, anything, to make Blaine secure and validated.

~*~*~*~*~

It’s July in New York, which means many things to many people, but nothing good to Kurt. He hates the smell of the city in the summer, hates the heat that follows him like a blanketing wave into the apartment. He hates feeling cooped up, chased into the sanctuary of their bedroom with its single window unit. Kurt resents the summer months; his friends that take those months to recharge from classes, to travel, to go home and see family. Right now, Kurt would love to be home, to spend time with his father; to play video games with Finn while pretending to hate it.

But his education is expensive, and Kurt had been determined that his father wouldn’t bankrupt himself sending Kurt to school in a far away city. He doesn’t want to be saddled with debt; despite his best efforts, he knows he will be. But he does his best to minimize the damage, so he goes to school part time, even during the summer months, and works. Blaine’s family is distant; they barely speak except for cool exchanges over the holidays really, but Kurt’s realized by now that Blaine’s parents figure paying Blaine’s way is enough to offset any needs he might have as a child, as a human. Things like love and acceptance.

Kurt hates the things he misses during this month; Blaine sweating over his guitar in the mid afternoon, noodling aimlessly, random notes hitting the air until a tune strikes him. Kurt resents his late classes; they keep him from so many open mic nights, so many chances to hear Blaine, open and lose and lost in the music.

Most of all, Kurt hates this July. The heat sits between him and Blaine, a compact mass of air he cannot penetrate. Their words and deeds skip over the surface of an atmosphere of residual anger and pain. Things appear normal, everything looks fine from the outside. But something is missing, something that wakes Kurt in the middle of the night, aching and scared. But he’s waiting, he’s waiting it out and letting Blaine take his time. Alone in their kitchen, Kurt curses the heat as sweat drips down his spine. He looks at the line of his ring, stark against his pale skin, and thinks about forever.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

It’s August, and they finally have a break. A week in between summer and fall semesters, time off from his job that Kurt has hoarded carefully. They drive home, car full of music and the sound of their voices. Night is falling, the sky is deepening purples and pinks and Blaine rolls down the windows to let the fresh air in, then takes Kurt’s hand.

Kurt loves him. It’s a feeling so intense; this moment that Kurt will always remember. A full stop in the winding ribbon of his life in which everything is just right.

He squeezes Blaine’s hand and sings louder, over the sound of the rushing wind.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

By September, Kurt has lost track of Blaine’s schedule. They both come and go, bumping into each other occasionally. They move independently, tied to class schedules and study groups, committed to deadlines and jobs. Blaine studies for his LSAT’s late into the night; he starts to feel like the library is more home than home is. When he enters the apartment, hushed and hollow in the late hours, he finds home cooked meals in the fridge, little love notes stuck to the saran wrap. He wonders when he last told Kurt he loves him, when they last spoke of love, in love, or touched. He traces the fine lines of Kurt’s looping handwriting, fingers hoping to catch a hint of warmth, hurting because he just can’t feel it.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

October has always been Blaine’s favorite month of the year. Fall isn’t nearly as showy in New York as in Ohio, but he does his best to recreate the feeling of fall. He buys potted mums for their window garden, brings home gourds of all shapes, searching for patterns he knows Kurt will like. When he unwraps the pumpkin spice muffins Kurt baked for him, the taste is so familiar, it fills his mouth and it feels like home. Kurt has baked him these muffins for years, since high school. The falling leaves and quickening air and the heaviness of ginger and cinnamon on his tongue flood him, and for a moment, he misses Kurt, misses him and has to excuse himself from study group because there are tears in his eyes.

When he comes home that night, he crawls into bed where Kurt is curled around his pillow. Kurt’s told him it’s because he misses Blaine’s smell, misses falling asleep with him. Blaine had laughed when Kurt admitted this, the kind of laugh that was kind, eyes squinting and fingers tangling into Kurt’s bed mussed hair. He never wakes Kurt when he comes home late, and Kurt always rises quiet, moving softly in the morning sunlight, but Blaine is a light sleeper, and sometimes he wakes. Wakes for a quick kiss, a small exchange about plans for the day, before tumbling back into sleep.

But tonight, he needs more. He leans over Kurt, kissing the corner of Kurt’s slack mouth, running a hand down Kurt’s spine, and Kurt is waking into his hands, back arching and stretching like a cat. He’s warm and soft and when his mouth opens for Blaine, Blaine thinks he can taste a touch of October, cinnamon sweet, deep in the corners of his lover’s mouth.

When he rolls, bringing Kurt over him, opening his legs and his eyes are wide in the dim light of their bedroom, he’s wanting, wanting so much, because it’s been a long time since he’s felt like he’s Kurt’s, since he’s wanted to be taken, sublimated and eviscerated by Kurt’s fingers and hands. But Kurt just smiles, pulling away a little, before he’s sliding down, tracing hard lines with his nails and tongue, up his thighs and over his cock. Blaine lets himself ride it, unspool gently while waiting. His sigh is relief when Kurt pauses to grab a small bottle of lube, and soon enough his thoughts have broken down to the simplest wishes and needs. Its yes, yes, and more please, and ohmygod yes Kurt. When he feels Kurt’s finger slip inside him, he’s beyond words, so far beyond, and Kurt is working him so hard, frantic and fierce and when Blaine comes, it’s with eyes closed, fingers in fists over his eyes, reduced to syllables and vowels.

He doesn’t think until later, doesn’t realize what happened. They’ve known each other long enough to speak a language of touch, and Blaine is sure Kurt knew what Blaine had been asking for. It wasn’t a complaint, really, but puzzlement. Blaine wonders how deeply Kurt has been feeling this distance between them; Kurt has been many things- reserved and careful, loving and needy, desperate and guarded. Intimacy has always been difficult for Kurt, who feels so much, who has always hurt so deeply he guards himself with precision. Blaine has always treasured the moments when Kurt was just that open, so ready to trust, safe enough to let go of those last boundaries, to be a physical part of what they are together, KurtandBlaine. He wonders when Kurt will feel safe enough to be that vulnerable with him again.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Blaine comes home one night, shoulders dusted with snow. It’s mid November; it feels too soon for snow, but Blaine has never minded winter weather. He’s always thought snow was a sort of gift, the only thing that makes the frigid air and the grey skies worth it. He’s smiling- it’s early enough that he finds Kurt still awake, curled under a heavy blanket, highlighting text in a thick book.

“Hi.” He drops next to Kurt; Blaine’s lips are cold when he kisses him.

“Hi.” Kurt breathes against his mouth, smiling. Seeing Blaine’s coat, he frowns and Blaine shrugs out of it, standing to hang it, retrieving the plastic bag he’d set by the door.

“I got you a present.” His voice is smiling, and Kurt looks up again from his textbook, and seeing the bag, makes grabby hands for it. Kurt’s hair is falling, glasses slipping down his nose. He’s wearing one of Blaine’s Henley shirts; he looks young and comfortable. He opens the bag to find several wedding magazines, and smiles up at Blaine.

“Thanks.” His words are sincere, but there’s something straining in Kurt’s face, something tight, and Blaine wonders.

“You haven’t said anything, and I hadn’t seen you working on anything.” Normally, Blaine would have expected Kurt to dive into wedding planning feet first, or head first, or really, any part of his body that got wherever he wanted to go first. But with the way things had been, and Burt being ill, it had seemed natural that they’d put off talking and planning. But it had been months, and Kurt hadn’t breathed a word about their engagement, about a wedding. No plans or swatch boards, no magazines and happy chatter. They were busy, yes, and on separate schedules that interfered phenomenally with their lives. But it was becoming unnerving, the silence.

“No…but thank you, this is nice.” Kurt’s voice is hesitant, and Blaine can feel the bottom of his stomach as it drops.

“Kurt…you still…I mean-“

“Oh! No, I mean yes!” Kurt reaches for his hand, gripping tightly, “Of course. I was just…waiting. I just want to be sure that you…really want this too.” Blaine looks at Kurt, really looks. He wonders if Kurt’s been waiting, through the silence and initial anger, through this strange separation they haven’t chosen but haven’t worked especially hard to overcome. It hurts to think of Kurt, waiting patiently, perhaps imagining the day that Blaine might come home and say that it was just too much, leaving behind an empty ring and an apartment too full of memories.

“Kurt.” His hand is on Kurt’s face, their foreheads touching, “I will never want anything else. I’m sorry if you’ve been worried. I just…” He’s not sure how to continue, but Kurt is. Kurt is so often sure, so many times the stronger half of their whole,

“You need time. I know.” Kurt’s nose brushes against his and Blaine smiles a little, tears prickling the corners of his eyes.

“But that doesn’t mean I don’t want this, that I’m not excited. That we can’t talk about it.”

“I know.” Kurt kisses the tip of his nose; Blaine’s face feels cold where his skin was touching Kurt’s. “We will. It just needs to be right, we need to be right. It’s going to be a while anyway- before I’m done with school and you have law school. I doubt your parents will pay if you run off and marry me, hmm?”

Blaine closes his eyes because that might be true, but fuck, it’s so far away.

“Maybe, I don’t know.” His voice is softer than usual, and Kurt’s laugh is fond. “We’ll figure it out. We have forever, right?” This kiss is full of tenderness, and when Kurt slips away it’s with a smile and then he’s back to his textbook, feet worming their way under Blaine’s thigh. Kurt’s feet are always cold, even in socks and a blanket. Blaine shifts, pulling the tv remote over, settling against the couch. There’s so much left to say, but he’s not sure that he’s ready to say anything just yet.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

December is the fastest month; they juggle trips home and final exams, a crippling snow storm that holds everything up infuriatingly. Blaine has become close with his study group, and as the year ends he and Kurt attend a party held by one of the girls, Melanie. There’s too much alcohol, and Chase is there. Blaine spots him from across the room and is petrified for a moment, frozen by the certainty that he might throw up. Kurt feels him stiffen and gives him a curious look. He’s never told Kurt who sent the picture, and Kurt has never asked. They pretend it doesn’t exist, at least with each other. There are times when Blaine can’t help himself, he looks and looks and wonders how long it will take until the image won’t burn it’s way through his body.

He thinks that maybe one day, he’ll look and it will be done. It won’t hurt, and he’ll know. He’ll feel the forgiveness and ending, cool like a balm under his skin. One day this picture won’t matter any more and he thinks that when that happens he’ll be able to delete it, to turn away and take Kurt’s hand and they will never look back.

Chase is a specter on the outskirts of every conversation he has, Blaine feels his presence in the room, swallows it and it sits like lead in his stomach. Kurt stays close the whole night, reading the careful tremors that run under Blaine’s skin. Kurt wonders, distressed, sensing a sort of seismic shifting in the air, anticipating the earthquake to come. Blaine drinks, heavily.

At half past one, Kurt excuses himself to use the bathroom. It’s too hot in this cramped apartment, which is making him antsy and irritated. When he comes back, he finds Blaine close, too close, to another man on the couch they’d been sitting on together. Marcus? Marvin? Kurt can’t quite remember his name, he’s a friend of a friend and Blaine and he are talking animatedly. Blaine glances up at Kurt and there’s this look, a sort of smirk, before he turns back to the other man. He’s too attentive; all eye contact and touching this man’s sleeve to make a point, and oh, Kurt is livid.

He waits Blaine out in near silence; when the party begins to break up around two he finally moves.

“I’m tired and we have to pack tomorrow, come on.” He’s trying to be patient; Blaine is very drunk. By the time he’s pried Blaine off of the couch and stuffed him into a coat, Kurt’s patience is wearing dangerously thin. Words are cluttering his brain, he’s been reminding himself that Blaine is still upset, that he has a right to be because Kurt fucked up first. But he’s still angry, and really, below that anger is hurt. Because he fucked up, he knows, but he never meant to hurt Blaine. He never set out to create any part of this mess; he’s just living in the wreckage of his actions and hoping to find his way from under the rubble one day.

But this, this is purposeful. Blaine’s smirk and his way of becoming too open, too touchy when drunk; Kurt knows it’s punishment. It’s a quiet but emphatic fuck you. Blaine’s way of showing Kurt what it feels like. And he wants to yell at him, get up in Blaine’s face and into his space and under his clothes so he can feel his words hitting Blaine’s skin, sinking in where Blaine will know. He wants to ask if Blaine hurting him on purpose makes anything better. If Blaine realizes that Kurt hurts every day, feeling the stinging of betrayal and broken promises he’s responsible for; he wants to ask, when is enough? He wonders at the nights he’s cried himself to sleep, alone, knowing how much damage he’s done, how badly he’s hurt Blaine. Kurt wants to hold him, hard, fingers bruising and whisper, it’s not worth it. Hurting the person you love will never be worth it. But he can’t speak, so he struggles to get Blaine home, and in bed, without words.

In the morning, Blaine will stumble through an apology, voice thick and he’s so hung over, Kurt doesn’t have the heart to press.

“Will hurting me make you feel better?” His hand is open on the warm expanse of Blaine’s back. Blaine turns his face from where it’s buried in the pillow, keeping his eyes shut against the bright sunlight.

“No. I don’t know. I wish something would.” Blaine winces, the honesty is unexpected and he regrets it when Kurt’s hand flinches away. He can’t look, can’t look up into the too bright room and see what he’s doing to Kurt, but he hears it in Kurt’s voice which is a little strangled in a way that Blaine knows means tears.

“I do too.” Kurt leaves behind a smell of comfort and familiarity, the room is empty and large around Blaine. He hurts everywhere and wonders why he can’t just let go, why he insists on deepening this wedge between them when all he wants is to be closer; when all he wants in his life is Kurt.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~~*

January finds them wrapped on the Hudson-Hummel couch, laughing with Burt and Carol, Kurt throwing popcorn at his brother across the room. Finn’s girlfriend Stacy is an absolute darling, Kurt and Blaine both agree that she’s definitely what Finn needs. When the ball drops Blaine kisses Kurt, mindful of the others in the room, squeezing their interlaced fingers together, hard. It hurts, pressing their ringed fingers like this, but they both smile, Kurt’s head tipping against Blaine’s shoulder. When he sighs, it’s with his whole body, and Blaine smiles. It’s a new year, fresh with limitless possibilities.

When Kurt stands to start cleaning the room, he’ll see the imprint of Blaine’s ring, a red line deep in the skin of his middle finger. He stands in the dark kitchen, lit in the wash of light from the hallway, tracing the groove over and over, wishing for a better year.


	7. Chapter 7

But somehow, it isn’t. Inexplicably, things manage to get worse; intangibly worse in a way that leaves both men confused and a little lost. They start the year with the best intentions, holding fast to promises they’ve made; to one another and themselves. But then once again, things begin to unravel. The way things begin to fall apart this time, they can’t pinpoint. It isn’t a moment of anger really, or a fight. It’s moments, strung together like beads on a wire, dropping down the line and clinking into one another as they fall, weighing and weighing and weighing them down until something has to shatter, somewhere something must snap. Nothing is meant to carry this weight.

January is cold in New York, air brittle and cracking against any skin left neglectfully exposed. They come home laughing, dropping bags in the doorway, recounting the horrors of their flight and god, that taxi driver, before Blaine drags Kurt into their bed. The sheets are cold, smelling faintly of the fabric softener Kurt buys, and Blaine has to kiss Kurt. He loves that Kurt always changes the sheets before they go on a trip. Coming home to a fresh bed is the best kind of heaven.

They tumble into the bed and then sleep together, thrumming and happy, replete and connected after a wonderful week spent with family. It’s a Sunday night; classes start back up for both of them the next day.

In January, riding on a high built of hopes and affirmation, Kurt pulls the magazines out. Blaine finds dog eared pages with Kurt’s handwritten notes all over the pages, sharpie marks smudged by his impatience. There are post it notes with random idea’s stuck into his lunches-

Are we sure we can’t feed doves glitter?

Blaine smiles when he finds them, stacking them carefully inside his wallet, until they begin to press outward, too many for such a small space. He finally moves the small pile to his nightstand drawer; every time he opens it he feels a rush of love and affection for Kurt.

Two weeks into the school year, he’s still saving notes, but they come less frequently. When Kurt comes home later than usual on a Tuesday, he’s surprised to find Blaine in the apartment, studying at their table.

“No study group?”  
“Not today.” Blaine’s voice is just a little cold, just this side of unfriendly, which makes Kurt tense up.

“Blaine, what’s wrong?” Kurt set’s his bag down carefully, unwinding his scarf slowly as Blaine turns a page in his text with a little too much interest.

“Why would anything be wrong? Why should I care where you’ve been when you normally would be home?” Blaine still isn’t looking at him, but Kurt can see the way the tip of his nose and ears are red, a sure sign of anger, and he’s baffled and aggravated and tired because it’s been a long day.

“I had to go see Professor Lingler during his office hours about my term paper, and I’m not…I don’t..” He can’t bring himself to finish the sentence. Kurt clearly wants to snap at Blaine, sharp words sticking to his tongue, an ugly mass of resentment he hates to swallow. He wants to say, what the fuck is your problem? And he aches to let his frustration and confusion out and ask where the hell Blaine thinks he’s been. But mostly, he wants to know why Blaine is doing this when things have been going so well.

But he doesn’t do any of that. Instead he clenches his fists and breathes through his nose. Posture ruler straight, he looks down at Blaine, voice cold but not angry, which is a feat.

“If you have something you want to talk to me about, please, talk. But can we not make assumptions and get angry based on them?” His eyebrow is doing that thing, that fuck you thing, and he can’t help it because he’s literally seeing red as Blaine shrugs and keeps reading his text, as if this conversation isn’t even worth his time.

“Blaine.” There’s an edge to his voice now, a warning which Blaine hears because he finally looks up.

“I don’t want to talk. I’m sorry I made an assumption. Just-“ Blaine sighs, eyes traveling the apartment slowly, looking anywhere but at Kurt, “Let’s just let it go ok?”

Blaine turns back to his book and it is clear to Kurt that he’s done talking. For a moment Kurt stands, baffled and angry and helpless, hoping that Blaine might change his mind, open his mouth, anything. But that doesn’t happen, the silence deepens around them, until he cannot take it any more and goes to hang up his scarf. They work around each other for the rest of the night, Kurt stewing and unsettled, Blaine calmly ignoring the tension and frustration that is absolutely shimmering off of Kurt’s body in palpable waves. They go to bed in silence, they wake up with few words and fewer touches.

After a day though, they’ve both softened toward one another; they don’t speak about it; Kurt because he’s learning that it’s a lesson in futility, Blaine because he just wants to move on and forget about all of this, wants to stop punishing Kurt. He’s impatient for the day when they can just be, back to normal. What happened wasn’t even a fight, and at first it doesn’t strike Blaine as being a big deal. Really, it feels more like a small bump in the road, and he’s sure he’ll manage to just move past the whole thing and go back to the way they were, find that feeling of potential and right they’d brought home from Ohio.

But even with this softening, even with a concerted effort on his part to just skim over the whole thing, everything starts to feel wrong. Just a little off. Then a little more off until Blaine finds himself making an effort, every day, to remind himself that he wants this. That he wants to be with Kurt. Wants that trust and familiarity back. He’s so busy telling himself what he wants, he doesn’t see what he does. He doesn’t feel, like Kurt does, how much farther away he’s becoming, how wide and deep this break between them is getting. He doesn’t see the dozens of things, the tiny things he does that show just how not right everything really is.

Unsure, he pretends for a week that everything is fine. Kurt does as well, biting his tongue as Blaine pushes them further apart. Blaine has made it clear he isn’t going to talk about anything, stubbornly insisting that everything is fine, even as the line between his eyebrows indicates that he knows otherwise. And Kurt, Kurt is so lost; his hands are tied. Pushing Blaine to talk only seems to exacerbate things, but this not talking is only pushing a wedge deeper and deeper between them. Not saying anything is killing him, and the farther Blaine pushes him, the harder he has to work to bite his tongue, to tamp down on that self-presvatory instinct to fight. To fight for what he wants, because god knows that Kurt has always had to fight for everything good he’s ever had in his life.

Sunday morning has always been a day for laying in bed, for crossword puzzles done over breakfast. Early afternoons curled too warm on the couch together, reading or watching tv, studying and just being close. So when Kurt wakes before Blaine this Sunday, he wakes slowly. Blaine is heavy in sleep beside him. Cinnamon rolls, he thinks. Blaine loves homemade cinnamon rolls, and Kurt loves making the foods that Blaine loves. He enjoys pampering Blaine, taking care of small things that make Blaine’s day smoother, better.

Kurt is humming quietly, hands in the batter, eyeing the crossword puzzle and wondering if Blaine might have some clue about 58 down, when he hears the bedroom door creak open. Blaine shuffles in, sleepy and half dressed, pressing an absent kiss to Kurt’s shoulder before reaching for coffee. Kurt watches, amused, as Blaine stumbles back into the bedroom, coffee in hand.

When he emerges a few minutes later, alert and dressed, Kurt has to frown. Blaine is in jeans and a Henley, school bag in hand.

“Going somewhere?” he calls singingly, hands still busy with the cinnamon rolls.

“Mm, yeah, study thing at the library.” Blaine looks up from his phone, which he has been fiddling with, at the clatter. Kurt has dropped the spoon he was using, his face looks…hurt? Shocked?

“Kurt, is everything ok?”

“It’s Sunday, Blaine.” Kurt says this with a sureness, and Blaine struggles to figure out why Kurt feels the need to tell him what day it is.

“Yes, it is. I find that it usually comes after Saturday.” Blaine tries for a joke, but his voice trails off a bit when he sees Kurt’s face whiten, lips trembling a bit. “Kurt, what’s wrong? Did we have plans?” He can see the way Kurt pulls himself together, deep breath in and his body is still, a smile on his face that doesn’t seem quite right.

“No, no we didn’t. When will you be home?” Kurt struggles to keep his voice even, reminding himself that he’s an actor, damnit. The fact is that Blaine isn’t trying to hurt him, that he honestly seems to have no idea what he’s doing is the only thing keeping Kurt together right now. He tells himself it doesn’t matter. They’d never said anything about Sunday’s being off limits for other plans, they just always have been.

Blaine pauses, filling his portable thermos with coffee. He’s frowning but not sure of his ground, so he settles for laying a hand on Kurt’s shoulder. There it is again, he thinks. That something off feeling, but he’s not sure what it is, so he doesn’t press.

“Just a couple of hours. Save some rolls for me?” Kurt nods- Blaine can’t see his face any more, standing behind Kurt, but he smiles when Kurt kisses the top of his hand. He leaves the apartment nagged by the feeling that he’s misstepped somehow, but not clear on just where. By the time he’s reached the library, the thought is forgotten.


	8. Chapter 8

Blaine doesn’t even notice when Kurt puts the magazines away, until suddenly it is two weeks later and he opens his bed table drawer searching for his glasses and sees the stack of post-it notes. He looks through them slowly, smiling a little, feeling for the first time the aching in his chest that seems to always be there. It’s a feeling he’s been carrying without realizing; it’s missing Kurt and banked anger and he has no idea what to do with any it. He remembers that first week of January, the way it had felt to be so close to Kurt again; he promises to try harder, to make things better.

The next few weeks bear the fruits of this promise. They both work harder to connect, to laugh with one another and to ignore everything that’s being left unsaid. Kurt doesn’t bring up the skipped meals, the way Blaine has forgotten three weeks running about their standing Sunday’s at home. Blaine skips study group to spend time with Kurt in the evening, cooking meals together. Kurt’s been skipping his weekly get together with his theater friends for months anyway, he works during the day when he doesn’t have class, so he’s home more often as well. They enjoy their time together, and soon enough they both start to feel it again- a sort of tingling that is hope and excitement and relief.

One night Blaine comes home to find Kurt singing, shimmying and filling the apartment with noise and laughter. He’s wearing his skinniest jeans and a tight black t-shirt with a graphic print; some sort of explosion of color. Every time he moves the shirt shifts a little, exposing a sliver of skin- so unusual for Kurt. His hair is messed, styled to look messy, and Blaine’s mouth waters.

“No, no, no.” Kurt dances away from Blaine’s grasping hands, laughing and shaking his finger at him, “We’re going out. There’s a new club opening, and it’s been way too long since we’ve had some fun.” Kurt is manhandling Blaine into their bedroom where he can clearly see an outfit picked out for him. Kurt steamrolls him in the best way possible; Blaine loves Kurt in this sort of high mood, giddy and compulsive and pushy. He doesn’t bother to protest when Kurt assaults him with eye liner, then proceeds to push him against the wall of the bathroom, lips and teeth and a desperate groan as he rolls his body slowly against him before pulling away.

“Mm, no, no more.” He holds Blaine to the wall with one firm hand. He is smirking, but his color is high, cheeks red under the glitter he’s dusted over his skin, his eyes are blown wide and Blaine bites back a whine that wants to escape. He wants Kurt, but he wants this too. This fun, and the feeling of freedom and how them they are right now, inside this moment. His smile back is a bit dangerous, his hands low on Kurt’s hips register a faint tremor.

“More later?” His voice is low and intimate; he can see the way it washes over Kurt, who bites his lip, eyes cast down.

“Mmmhmmm.” Kurt is breathing against his neck, lips tracing a gentle line up to his ear. When he pulls away Blaine is shocked at the cold, how cold he is without Kurt’s body, and then he’s following as Kurt leads him away, down the hallway and into the night.

The club is crazy packed, so full of moving bodies Blaine wonders idly if there is enough air to go around. But it’s new, and nice. Kurt’s friend Sheila knows someone who knows someone, which is how they’ve gotten in at all.

And right now, Blaine doesn’t care. It’s dark, lights flashing and moving, it’s dark and close and Kurt is touching him, neck to toe, moving his body against Blaine’s back in time to the music. He’s drunk, they’re both a little drunk and a lot handsy which would normally embarrass Blaine but there’s a level of anonymity in the press of bodies and the random pattern of strobe lights and fuck, he doesn’t care. Kurt’s teeth are in his neck and his thumbs are pressing under the waist of his jeans. When Blaine turns, he does with a sensual roll of his hips, hooking one hand around Kurt’s neck and looking, looking up into Kurt’s eyes. It’s not anything he notices on an everyday basis, but times like this, Blaine fucking loves the differences between their bodies. The way Kurt is taller, how owned and wanted it makes him feel to have Kurt looking down at him.

Things begin to get a little jumbled, after this. There’s more shots, drinking in a group around a sticky table near the crowded bar. The next morning he’ll remember a snapshot, frantic and desperate in the bathroom; the memory will wash over him, shame and guilt and disbelief.

But guilt won’t begin to cover how Blaine will feel about what happened next. Alone in bed the next morning, Blaine will try to piece together when things started to go wrong, and all he’ll remember is Jason. He’ll remember pushing Jason, hard; Jason swinging back, there’s a sliver of memory of that. Then it’s being escorted out of the club, wondering where the fuck Kurt is, swearing and no one is really listening because they don’t know him and don’t give a fuck.

Blaine will wake up in the morning and remember making an ass of himself. He won’t remember how they got separated, but he’ll feel it again, the thread of righteousness, being positive that Kurt knew Jason was going to be there. That Kurt was in the club with Jason, laughing at his drunken fool of a boyfriend.

It’s morning now, and despite the vestiges of too much alcohol; the dry mouth and pounding head, he remembers. Remembers too little and yet far too much. Memories that make him wince and pull the sheet over his face. There’s nothing rational about his thought process the night before. No reason for him to have behaved the way he did. He’s still not sure how he made his way home, but he remembers, clearly, shouting at Kurt when he’d come in, flushed and frightened because he’d lost Blaine at the club. He remembers the way his words tripped out, drowning Kurt’s exclamations of fear. The way he let himself pretend that the caring and worry in Kurt’s eyes was guilt, or fear. But he cannot forget Kurt shrieking, drunk and out of control in a way he rarely gets,

“Fuck you, Blaine Anderson! Fuck you and your fucking inability to just…god, fuck no matter what I do, I’m wrong.” His voice had risen to the point that Blaine wondered what the neighbors must be thinking. Kurt, by this point, had been almost unhinged, voice cracking, “When will you have enough? What do I do to be sorry enough? How long are you going to punish me?” For a moment, Kurt had looked ready to hit something, to throw something reigning himself in with obvious effort, visibly pulling himself together.

“When will it be enough for you,” His voice had been quiet then. Sobering a little, Blaine found himself shaking, limp on the couch and looking up at Kurt. “You got kicked out of that club. Fuck I don’t even know why!” Kurt, his deliberate and controlled Kurt, was twitching, muscles moving and jerking with anger and frustration, his hand rising and falling, looking for something, some way to fidget. But Kurt never fidgeted; he’s always been still, careful with the lines of his body, and even drunk this sort of unwinding, unhinged sort of Kurt is frightening and deeply unnerving.

In the light of day, the memory of Kurt like this is enough to have Blaine curing up in a ball, ashamed and disgusted and a little sick to his stomach. He can hear Kurt still, voice too loud and high and on the edge, “All I know is I lost you in that club and panicked. And I find you here only to have you screaming at me th- that,” he remembers Kurt’s voice breaking, this time not with strain but with tears, “That I’m fucking Jason, and oh my god,” his laugh was weak, “I can’t… I can’t deal with this coming out of nowhere. Sometimes I’m not sure I know you at all any more.” His face was heartbreaking, tears leaving lines trailing through glitter, and the last thing Blaine remembers the next day is the sound of the apartment door closing behind Kurt, closing with a quiet, but firm, click.


	9. Chapter 9

The first seconds of wakefulness the next day are blissfully blank. Until Blaine wakes up fully and realizes he’s alone. Kurt’s half of the bed is not only empty, but it’s obvious he never came to bed. Blaine sits, moving fast and ignoring the way the movement causes a lightning burst of pain to roll from his head through his stomach. Then he hears it- the sound of the shower coming on, pipes knocking as the rings of the shower curtain clink. Kurt is home. He breathes a sigh of relief, laying back.

Blaine stays in bed and listens to the sounds of the shower, occasional muffled thumps, once hearing Kurt clear his throat. It’s unusual for either of them to shower in silence, they both tend to sing a lot, all the time, and that includes in the shower where the acoustics are more fun. But Kurt is silent. The silence gives way for Blaine, achy and tired and ashamed, gives him time to piece together the night, his behavior.

When the door cracks open quietly, he steals a glance; Kurt is wrapped in a towel and still damp from his shower. For a moment, their eyes meet; Kurt looks exhausted, drawn. There’s something about his body language, something Blaine isn’t sure he’s ever seen before. Kurt seems sad- it’s not on his face which is carefully blank. It comes to him, the word he’s searching for; it’s defeat. And, god, the way that defeat sits on the lines of Kurt’s shoulders makes Blaine want to cry.

“I’m sorry.” His voice is scratchy, tongue dry and too thick in his mouth. Kurt doesn’t move; he’s still and unresponsive. Blaine realizes this is the second time in less than a year that he’s found himself like this, hung over and achingly sorry.

“I know.” Kurt’s voice is soft. He moves to the closet, dressing quickly. Blaine can’t tell if it is exhaustion or hangover, but for the first time, he has no idea what Kurt is thinking. Kurt without his emotions, so usually everything about him, vibrant and rich and emanating; this impassive Kurt feels like a stranger. Something twists in Blaine’s stomach, winding and wrapping inside him until he starts to feel short of breath.

“Kurt-“ He sits up, voice a little pleading, but Kurt shakes his head. Finally, something changes, a little bit of emotion seeping through, something a little bitter and a little angry and a lot resigned.

“I can’t-“ Kurt squares his shoulders, his face rearranging into something cold and far away. It’s a look Blaine has seen on Kurt countless times, but never, never aimed at him. It’s Kurt pulling away, Kurt putting a shield up. “I can’t fight with you. I don’t feel like I have any ground to stand on. I messed up. I’ve apologized. I’ve begged. I tell myself to be patient and to wait, that forgiveness and trust take time to rebuild. And I’ll wait. I’ll wait for you to forgive me fully, for us to get back to where we trust each other.” Kurt stops, takes a breath; hand creeping up to curl around his neck.

“But you aren’t allowed to punish me this way any more Blaine. If you are upset, you can talk to me. You have to talk to me. If you feel insecure or have a worry, you can come to me and we’ll discuss it. I’ve asked you for this, I’ve asked you to talk to me, to come to me, and you don’t do any of that,” Frustration is leaking through, his fingers are curving and pressing against his throat, “You punish. You pull it all in don’t talk to me and keep it bottled up and then when it comes out- the way…you,” When tears form in his eyes, his face is almost comical; he looks offended, brushing at them impatiently.

“The way you’ve been acting, it’s cruel. You do things to hurt me, you yell at me and swear and break things and I’m done with that part. I’ve told you from the start, I’ll do whatever you need me to do to make this better. But I respect myself too much to let you keep going like this, and I respect our relationship too much. We’re breaking this beautiful thing, don’t you understand? And if I keep letting you do this, be this person that you aren’t-“ Kurt breaks off again, turning away to hide his face. Blaine can see the way his shoulders and arms tremble, and he wants to get up and go to him, but he’s seen Kurt like this. He’s seen Kurt draw in and ice Finn out, Mercedes, even his father. There is no way that he can touch Kurt right now.

“I’m not going to push you. I’ve tried bringing this up and you won’t listen. I try talking and you tune me out. I can’t do this alone any more, and I need you to come to me when you’re ready to start talking.” Kurt’s voice is quiet; he’s still turned away from Blaine, talking to the wall almost.

“Ok.” He can’t think of what more to say. Blaine isn’t sure what he is feeling; indignant because Kurt is the one who messed things up. He doesn’t want to be, but he’s angry. Some small and shame-filled part of him whispers that Kurt deserves to feel bad; it’s the part of him that wants to punish Kurt for hurting him so deeply in the first place. But he’s also ashamed at his behavior because Kurt is right. He has been awful. His behavior has been nothing short of ugly and small. There’s another small voice in his head, asking, is this who I really want to be? He doesn’t want to be cruel, but Blaine is stuck, not knowing how to feel the forgiveness he’s telling himself he’s already given.

The rest of the day passes in near silence. They avoid talking, they don’t look at each other. Blaine promises himself that from now on, he’ll tell Kurt when he starts to feel angry. He’ll vocalize his insecurities and hurts when the memory rushes over him, hot and bitter. Fleetingly, he realizes he’s been down this road before, that they’ve been down this road before. Stuck in silence, renewing useless promises to try harder in the future. No matter how hard he seems to try, things just seem to fall apart, over and over. But he’s determined, stubborn, and he loves Kurt too much to give up now.

Or course, things don’t work the way he wants them to. Blaine can’t seem to make himself work the way he wants to. The little things, the things that scratch at his skin and push, push him, making him frustrated and angry, or insecure and jealous- they’re everywhere. Blaine works to ignore them, but they build up. He struggles to dismiss them, but the more they pile up, the louder and more insistent his anger gets.

On a Monday in February, Blaine comes home to find Kurt running lines out loud in the living room.

“What are you doing?” Kurt is gesturing with a sheaf of papers, trying to stuff them into Blaine’s hands before he’s even got his coat off.

“Getting ready for my audition, I need you to help me.”

“Ok ok, calm down.” Blaine laughs, piling his coat over his bag on the floor. He looks over the sheets quickly.

“I’m Link.” Kurt informs him before diving in. Blaine is scanning the pages, trying to find his spot, smiling because Kurt like this is a treat; flustered, all high energy and drama.

They run through the scene together for a while, until they are interrupted by the sound of the oven timer.

“Oh thank god I’m starving!” Kurt moans theatrically which makes Blaine smile fondly and gather him in close for a moment, before Kurt is pushing him of, smiling his way through complaints about low blood sugar and a ruined dinner.

They talk quietly over dinner; about their day, upcoming tests. Kurt has filed another complaint with their supervisor regarding their leaking window (oh my god if I have to live with a plastic covered window for the rest of winter I’ll go mad, Blaine, it’s so ugly). There isn’t any particular reason that Blaine’s thought drift, but they do, and he stiffens suddenly.

“What?” Kurt was in the middle of a story, but stops when he sees the way Blaine freezes.

“Nothing, don’t worry. What were you saying?” Blaine tries to smile, not wanting to argue. Words lie heavy on his tongue but no matter how much he tells himself to talk to Kurt, he can’t make them come out. Kurt is frowning; he knows something is going on. But he’d promised Blaine he wasn’t going to push, made it clear that Blaine needed to learn to come to him. There’s a waiting look on his face that Blaine hates. They finish dinner in silence.

They are half way through cleaning the dishes, Blaine washing and Kurt drying in the tiny kitchenette, when Blaine finally steels himself.

“Who else is trying out for the play?” He can’t see Kurt’s face, turned away as he puts dry dishes into the cupboard. His tone is carefully nonchalant; he knows he’s pulled it off when Kurt answers casually,

“I don’t know, I haven’t really talked to any one.”

“Oh, hmmm.” It’s the best he can do. Blaine knows that Kurt stopped spending time with his friends from the theater troupe in an effort to smooth things over with him. They never talked about it, but Jason’s presence, or the potential for Jason to be present caused enough unspoken tension that Kurt just stopped hanging out with them.

“Yeah, I guess it’s going to be the same old-“ Blaine senses the moment Kurt catches on, shoulders stiffening. He tells himself that now would be the time to talk to Kurt calmly. To explain that he knows it can’t be avoided, that Jason can’t always be avoided, but he just feels so insecure. His reticence fills the air, the air in the kitchen choking with it, but he can’t. He can’t make himself say any of it.

Kurt doesn’t finish the sentence; they let the silence press in on them, cloying and claustrophobic. Before he hangs the damp towel, Kurt stops and looks, just looks at Blaine.

“ I won’t try out for the play. It’s not worth it.”

“Kurt-“ But he’s just shaking his head, Kurt is, closing the conversation. Every line of his face and body is knowing, waiting. They don’t need words to say anything now; but that look, the hopelessness, breaks Blaine until he can’t breathe.

“I’m going for a walk.” Blaine gathers his coat, still on the floor, avoiding Kurt; dodging waves of hurting and resentment and uncertainty. He’s winding his scarf too quickly, out the door and pushing into the cold air before he has a chance to stop and wonder what the hell he’s doing.


	10. Chapter 10

Blaine ends up at Jan’s again, coming unannounced. Jan is the only person he knows who knows what has happened with him and Kurt, and even though he isn’t ready to talk, doesn’t particularly want to talk, the need to be with someone who knows what is going on is overpowering.

Of course Jan won’t let him get away with not talking. She knows him well enough by now, the look on his face and the set of his shoulders. So she brings him in, offers him a beer and lulls him into feeling safe by talking about mundane topics. Law school applications and specialties.

“So are you breaking up with him or what?” It comes out of nowhere and manages to startle him into fumbling his beer. His laugh is rueful and resigned,

“No. I don’t want to talk about it.” Blaine turns away, toward the tv that’s been muted. Jeopardy has never been so fascinating, he thinks.

“Fuck that, why else would you be here? For my stellar taste in beer? Come on, talk to me.” When he looks at her, he really looks. Jan is small but strong. She radiates competence; there’s something about her very nature that inspires confidence and trust. Blaine thinks she’ll make an excellent lawyer.

“I don’t want to break up with him. I just don’t know how to make this better. I just need to get over this, find some way to trust him not to cheat again.”

“Do you really think he’d cheat on you again?” Jan’s voice is quiet, the question free of judgment. She leans forward from her curled position, putting her beer down and squeezing his knee, waiting for his answer.

He starts to answer, knee jerk words on the tip of his tongue, but has to stop. He thinks about that moment in the kitchen. The moments all along, every step of the way, when he had a chance to tell Kurt what he was thinking. The times when he could have laid it bare, exposing his insecurity, but chose silence instead, thumbing through the pictures on his phone. Masochism and silence, my two constant companions, he thinks bitterly.

He heard Kurt, that morning in January after the club debacle. Blaine heard him so clearly; promised himself that from that moment on he would. He would talk, he’d delete the pictures and move forward and fix everything. But it was so much harder than he thought it would be, to put words to the feelings that cluttered his throat until he struggled to breathe. Even now, the thought of pushing them out makes him feel scared and naked.

Jan’s question rings in his ears and suddenly he has a name for that feeling, that feeling that’s been sitting in his chest and heart for almost a year now; fear. He’s not afraid that Kurt will cheat again because he knows Kurt would never want to hurt him like that again. But he’s afraid that Kurt will hurt him, somehow. He’s afraid to trust Kurt again, to trust him and get his heart broken in some other unknown, unforeseeable way. The realization shocks him, slamming into his body which is suddenly cold and numb. It’s late, maybe too late, and he’s just realized that he doesn’t trust Kurt.

It’s not that he doesn’t trust Kurt to be faithful, or to love him, Jan is so right on that score. But Blaine no longer trusts that Kurt won’t hurt him. Jan is calling his name, gently, and he can see beer spilling onto her carpet from his dropped bottle. He can hear her calling his name but he can’t move because he’s just now realizing how deeply this fear has rooted itself, and the realization is like a paralytic. He can feel the tendrils of this fear, gentle roots in his bones and muscles, corkscrewing and squeezing deep, deep inside.

Everything he’s been feeling, the frustration and anger, moments of short temper and the times he’s lashed out or behaved irrationally, all seem to make sense now. When he walks in the door and sees Kurt on any given day, beautiful and lazy on the couch, he could never explain why it make him so angry. Why he wanted to yell at Kurt, why some days, just seeing Kurt hurt so much.

Despite his promises- to himself and Kurt, promises to talk instead of getting angry, to communicate instead of allowing himself to boil over, he hasn’t said anything. He can’t find the words, even when he wants to; even tonight when he tried so hard. He feels them, log jammed in his throat. It’s that fear, this fear he wasn’t even aware of. It speaks louder than wishes or common sense, and his body won’t let him. Now that he can see, now that he has a name for this feeling (god, I’m so scared) Blaine can see how much this fear has touched. All of the anger and insecurity; they are nothing more than masks for what makes him feel weak and vulnerable. It is so clear - he hasn’t been able to say anything because that would mean exposing the most tender parts of his self, the most fragile and hurt, and he doesn’t trust Kurt with those any more.

This whole time, he’s been telling himself that this was the problem; that he didn’t trust Kurt not to cheat again, not to forget him again. Blaine’s hands are shaking, fingers nerveless as he picks up the bottle, apologizing dimly. His mouth is apologizing and his brain is whirling, spinning. He’s so confused, because he realizes now that through everything the most rational part of his brain has known, with certainty, that Kurt would never cheat on him again. He has managed to somehow know this and not recognize it; somehow managed to sell himself this lie. Spin himself into this story where he felt jealous and threatened. It’s no wonder he’s been confused as fuck, because his brain has been looking one way and his heart another and the realization is like a truck hitting him. This distrust, lingering and predatory, isn’t about cheating; it’s so clear to him now. He doesn’t trust Kurt in the ways that have no words. The tethers that have always bound them, intimacy and safety and the sense of being; those are what’s been severed.

His brain is moving almost too fast, thoughts whipping through him, and it hurts because he’s so angry and heartbroken and lonely all of a sudden. It’s as if, for the first time in almost a year, he’s finally really and truly upset about the right thing. He is alone now on the couch, Jan has left, hands full of wet towel, and his phone is ringing, Kurt’s ring tone loud in the small apartment.

“Blaine?” Kurt’s voice is questioning; beautiful and tempting and Blaine knows with certainty that he cannot come home right now, not for anything in the world. He can’t. He needs to think, to work things out. If he goes home he’ll just want to make Kurt feel better and everything else will get pushed aside and this is too important. Blaine knows he’s walking a fine line, on the cusp of really and truly fucking this whole thing up. The memory of Kurt’s voice rings in his inner ear, we’re breaking this beautiful thing, and he knows now what Kurt meant. Blaine has to work to keep his tone even.

“I’m sorry. I think I need some time…I’m going to stay with Jan tonight.” It comes out colder than he intends. He’s tense, his body readying for a fight that isn’t going to happen. Kurt breathes into the phone. It’s a small sound, hurt maybe, and Blaine’s heart contracts painfully. “I’m not…it’s ok. Kurt,” Blaine’s voice is softer now; he can feel Kurt’s fear humming through the line, “I just need to figure some things out. I’ll be home in the morning, I promise.”

“Ok.” Kurt’s voice is thick. Neither acknowledges the tears; there’s nothing to say right now. Alone in their apartment, Kurt is cold. Fingers and toes, skin crawling with chill. He’s cold and so alone and desperately afraid that come morning, Blaine will come to the door, ring in hand, carefully snipping the last of the mangled threads holding them together. All that’s left to him now is hope. And a deep and abiding love he knows he’ll never be able to let go, no matter what Blaine chooses.


	11. Chapter 11

Alone on Jan’s couch later that night, Blaine lets his thoughts wander and regroup, clutter and undo him. The distance between them seems almost too much. Blaine wonders how they’ll ever bridge this gap. He wonders, for the first time, if they can. If he can. If he’ll ever be able to reach Kurt again, reach out to Kurt and find that place that was once so comfortable, so familiar, so home. When he thinks, do I really want to do this? the thought is both new and completely familiar. He thinks about his life, stretched out before him, and what it might look like without Kurt. What he might look like, if he’d ever find someone else to make a family and a place with. And he can’t.

Blaine has to laugh at himself, a little. He can’t even think about a life without Kurt seriously- it’s all he can do to stay away now. Kurt has been so much to Blaine over the years- best friend, comfort, lover. He’s surprised now by the sudden tears, curling around himself on the couch, because this- all of this- hurts so fucking badly. Loving Kurt right now is suffering and wanting; conflict and resolution, and just too much. He has no real answers, no way to know how they are going to fix this, just the understanding that Kurt in his life is as necessary as breathing.

He thinks of all the things he has done wrong, the ways he’s tied and tied and tied Kurt’s hands, moment by moment. The way Kurt is so careful when he’s around other men, so as not to make Blaine jealous. Kurt cutting off ties with his theater friends; hoping that avoiding the chance of running into Jason will be enough to pacify Blaine. Kurt’s quiet voice, offering to give up his audition, offering to give up something that he loves and needs, to keep Blaine happy.

A memory appears, skipping across his tired brain, of his mother’s jewelry box. When he was younger, he would sit and watch her put her makeup on. She had always been so beautiful; to this day Blaine is positive that his mother is the most beautiful woman he’s ever known, lovely in an untouchable and fragile sort of way. As a boy, just being near her, being allowed to spend time watching her, talking with her, had been enough to make him giddy and nervous and warm all over, basking in her attention. Occasionally, when he had been well behaved, she would let him poke through her jewelry box, helping to chose what she should wear. He remembers the mess of necklaces, delicate gold chains knotted in a heap, pushed to the bottom of the box.

“Mama, what happened to these?” He’d held out the gleaming hodgepodge of chains.

“Oh,” She wrinkled her nose, “Nothing really. Sometimes if you aren’t careful or don’t pay attention, they get tangled up somehow.” She’d laughed softly, “I never have the patience to unknot them, so they just get worse and worse.” And Blaine had smiled, vowing to untangle the chains for her when she wasn’t there, hoping to surprise her, wanting to see her proud of him, to feel her love for him because he’d done something just for her.

The memory now is a little bit bittersweet. Blaine knows he is a people-pleaser, and times like these, when he remembers moments from his childhood usually feel a little sad. Remembering himself, so desperate for love and acceptance even from a young age. Wanting to be the light in his mother’s eyes, even for a moment.

But really, what he’s thinking about was that mess of chains. The way he’d had to pick them apart, tiny bit by tiny bit. He’d used a bent safety pin and a magnifying glass, terrified to snap the fragile gold links. It had taken days, and a store of patience he’d never suspected himself to have, before he’d finally finished the task. He’d always wondered, later, if his mother would have taken more care with those necklaces if she’d known how hard he’d worked to fix them. Six months later however, he’d looked into her jewelry box to find a tangle of chains, left carelessly strewn amongst other jewels.

He sees now, the chaos they’ve made of their lives. Not with carelessness by any means. But Blaine knows now, he’s been so focused on one aspect of this whole mess, he’s let all of the real things, all of the true intricacies and problems pile up and knot and coalesce and worsen. He thinks of Kurt; sweet and imperfect, so fucking beautiful sometimes Blaine aches with it, hurting to touch and wonder and wallow in the hollows of Kurt’s body. Kurt who is one thing on the surface- bitchy and reserved, but possessor of the ability to love, of a genuine tenderness and warmth that only the most select are privileged to know. Blaine is awake at three am, awake and every cell in his body speaks before his mind can form the words, each one crying to be near Kurt, to hold him and to love him.

It will be too soon, Blaine realizes, to go home to him now. Kurt hurt him, cut right into the most vulnerable parts of him and that’s a fact. Blaine chose to forgive him from the get go- he knew it would be hard, but he didn’t realize how much of a mess he could make of everything in the process. This isn’t a moment for blame, but for reality. Kurt alone hasn’t been able to fix what needed fixing, and neither will Blaine be able to.

He remembers the morning after their engagement, waking up so happy and replete; the way he’d crashed hard, finding Kurt in the bathroom, still marked by Jason’s mouth. The way he’d thought, I can’t do this. But he could, Blaine knew, because he had to. He remembers thinking that Kurt’s actions had cracked their foundations. If Kurt’s actions were responsible for those cracks, his reticence to really let himself feel what happened, to let himself deal with what was really broken, had only served to widen those cracks. They would have to take time, to work together, to fill them.

So they will, Blaine promises himself. Come morning he’ll get up off this couch. He will stop for coffee, find Kurt in their apartment, and they will talk. And it might take more months. It will be hard, and somehow he will have to find a way to talk around his fears and insecurities and form some sort of shaky bridge. Something small and temporary to bridge these gaps. And they’ll call it trust, even though it will only be the beginning. But he’s committed to it now, hands aching to take this tangled mess and start to pick apart the strands. To take Kurt’s fingers with his, to hold them steady as they slowly make their way through the fragile strings holding them hostage in this moment.


	12. Chapter 12

It’s early when he creeps into the apartment, just shy of 5 am. Blaine held out as long as he was able, through a sleepless night spent worrying and aching. At four thirty he’d given in, and left Jan’s apartment with a thank you note hastily scribbled on the white board decorating her fridge.

Blaine opens the door, expecting to find Kurt on the couch- he’s surprised instead by an empty room. The apartment is silent; it feels fragile and waiting. Kurt had told him, early in their engagement, about his promise to never go to bed angry- it had become a strange sort of superstition he’d held onto tightly through these difficult months, throughout this difficult year. On nights when they hadn’t been able to patch things up, Kurt always chose to sleep on the couch. Needless to say, Blaine is surprised to find the couch as he left it, barren.

Shoes toed off carefully, Blaine heads toward the kitchen, thinking of coffee, and when he looks down the hall he can see Kurt curled tightly on Blaine’s side of the bed, back to him. There’s an ache, fear and forgiveness, sheltering his heart. He wonders how Kurt managed to fall asleep in that bed, knowing Kurt as he does, he has to think Kurt must have thought they were over, that Blaine was done, curling up close to Blaine’s smell. Blaine knows that this would be the only reason Kurt would have for sleeping alone on a night like last. Feeling somehow, deep inside, that Blaine had walked away for good. It’s a realization that almost propels him into the bedroom; luckily he sees the tented paper on the kitchen counter first. Curious, he stops, and seeing that it is a letter, he begins to make the coffee.

When he picks it up, he finds pages of notebook paper, ripped carelessly out of a binder, and underneath them, Kurt’s ring. The apartment is still dark, winter pressing in on the windows with menace, and Blaine is sure for a moment he is going to throw up. Surely this cannot be what it seems. He refolds the sheets, gathers his coffee and the ring. Blaine moves carefully, completing each task with the utmost precision and care, taking his time and reminding himself to breathe.

When he can’t stand it any more, he opens the pages, smoothing them with shaking fingers against the laminate of their counter. Kurt’s ring is clenched in his hand, edges cutting into the soft meat of his palm and Blaine wants it, wants the biting like he’s branding the memory of Kurt indelibly into his skin.

 

Blaine,

First, I need you to breathe. I know you are looking at my ring and absolutely freaking out and I need you to stop. It doesn’t mean what you think it does, so just take a moment, ok baby?

I love you so much. I love you so much, in ways that I don’t even have words for.

I want the rest of my life with you. I can’t imagine anything else, I don’t want to imagine anything else. But when I see the rest of our lives, we’re happy.

I’m not naive. In a lifetime together, I imagine that there are going to be hard times. Big fights and little. Resentments and miscommunication and weeks without sex and slammed doors, and you know what? All of that is ok. When I think of our lives together, I can’t help but think that at the end, in the final accounting, the good will always outweigh the bad.

This hasn’t been a great year for us, has it? I can imagine that sometimes you ask yourself, is this worth it? Do I really want to stay? Because you have no assurance that this will work out. You don’t trust me, and I get that. And I feel selfish, asking you to follow me blindly, for holding you to a promise you made out of love and desperation and hurting. Because you, Blaine Warbler, are the most honorable man I know. Well, you and my dad.

So I know that you think these rings are solid promise. And I meant them to be, but if you don’t want this, I won’t make you stay. I want you to. I don’t know what I will do without you if you decide to go. But what I’m asking, it’s a big thing.

Blaine, I want you to stay. Even if you aren’t sure, even if it means waiting through months or even a few more years like this. Because I think that a few years, even if they hurt and aren’t the best- they’ll be outshone by the better ones in the long run. I’d take ten bad years in the face of 60 beautiful ones. If I am lucky enough to be gifted a lifetime of loving you, I expect that the bad times will add up to a few years anyway. But the good ones, the best ones will so far surpass anything bad.

When I look back at the past six years, the things I remember are the good, the amazing, the incredible things we’ve done and shared. .

Do you remember our first kiss? The way my hands were shaking so much and you accidentally pushed me into that table and we ended up laughing because we knocked over all of my supplies and broke poor Pavarotti’s casket? I’d never imagined I’d find someone who would kiss me and then laugh with me and hold me and it would all feel like the most incredible thing that had ever happened to me.

The first time we made love- if you’ll pardon the expression because that’s all I can describe it as- I was so scared and I thought for sure that you’d hear my heart pounding and tell me to stop. I was so sure you’d tell me I wasn’t ready because I was so scared; scared to hurt you, scared because it was so huge, what we were going to do and, I’d never felt so many things at once. Never felt so connected and cared for. Never let myself feel so out of control and it was the most incredible feeling, trusting you like that, you trusting me with your self and your body.

But you did feel my heart, and you just smiled and put my hand on your chest, and your heart was pounding just as hard and everything was so overwhelming but incredible. Me inside you and feeling your heart beating everywhere and how we both ended up crying because it was so much.

Oh, and that time when you came to visit me in my dorm room for the first time? I never told you this because I was mortified by the whole thing and I thought I’d never be able to look my suitemates in the eye because we were so loud. But after you left I found a dent in the wall from the bed frame hitting it and every night on the phone with you I’d press my fingers into that dent and it was almost like being close to you and I would cry.

That was hard, that year. But every time we saw each other it was better, and I don’t mean sex, I mean us. We had that invincible feeling, like “holy shit look what we’re making it through.” And we knew how strong we were and by the end of that year it was like nothing would ever come between us because we’d already done so much.

Do you remember that feeling?

Because I know we’ve fought. Before this all happened, we had fights and got angry. There was awkward sex and days when things were kind of distant, but you know what? Those aren’t the things I think about. That’s not what I remember or how I’ll remember us.

What I remember is that time you convinced me to go to some nature conservation center in the middle of March. It was sleeting sideways and we had to go out on that walkway to get to the museum and I was sure I was going to kill you because we were NOT dressed for the weather. And no one else was there because of course we were the only dumbasses on a nature trail in the middle of a storm. But then the umbrella blew inside out and we were both trying to hold on to it and I was swearing at you but it didn’t matter because we were both laughing so fucking hard.

That’s what I remember.

I’m selfish. I’m so selfishly in love with you because I want it all. I want years of these memories. I want to wake up one day, 20 years from now and realize that we don’t even need words any more. I want a family, with you. A family of kids and maybe cat or something, and plants and everything. Just, everything.

So I’m giving you this ring. I love you Blaine. But I need you to want me, and to want this, and most importantly, to want this fight. To want to be in this fight with me, for us. I don’t want to be fighting with you anymore. I’m ok with anger, and rebuilding, but I want to know that we are both in this together.

I want you to keep this ring. And when you are ready, I am hoping that you’ll give it back to me. It doesn’t have to be now, or whatever moment you decide that yes, you are ready to work with me for this. Because, god, I’m banking on you wanting to work for this.

Just- when you know. When you have that feeling back, that thing that I broke that we need to rebuild, give it to me then, ok?

I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you so much my fingers hurt. My eyelashes hurt and god our bed is going to be so fucking empty without you but I’m tired and I’m scared and the only thing I want is to feel you all around me and the only place I’ll get that is in our bed where your skin has been and it smells like you.

~K

 

The apartment is still, Blaine is still. He reads and re-reads the letter, never noticing the tears that drop onto the pages, blurring words and running ink. Into the quiet, he closes his eyes and breathes, then stops, then breathes again and takes off his ring.


	13. Chapter 13

Their rings clink together in his palm where they are cupped loosely. Shaking a little, Blaine tries to stand, coffee and letter forgotten on the counter. He feels euphoric and somehow weak, kitten legged and as he makes his way toward their bedroom, eviscerated.

Through the words in that letter, ink scrabbled into cheap paper, he could feel every word. Kurt’s words, Kurt’s memories, cutting into his delicately thin skin, until he’d been left bleeding love for this man he’d chosen. No, he shakes his head, coming to a stop in the door of their room. Kurt is curled away from the door, and even in his sleep there is a hitch in Kurt’s breathing that tells Blaine he cried himself to sleep.

It was never a choice. He didn’t choose Kurt, and Kurt didn’t choose him. Blaine doesn’t believe in fate, or luck really. But he does know that there was no choice. It might have taken him months to recognize it, but he was lost from the moment Kurt stopped him on that stairwell. He was lost and helpless to it and there is no chance he’ll ever be able to walk away from this man.

Mindful of the early morning hush, Blaine strips off his wrinkled clothes, down to his boxers, before crawling into bed next to Kurt. Even in sleep they’ve always sought each other, and this morning is no exception. Mumbling, Kurt turns into his arms, still sleeping, face drawn with sadness. Blaine waits, running fingertips gently over the planes of Kurt’s face. It’s not often that he can take the time to admire Kurt’s beauty like this, at peace, objectively.

But Kurt is waking now, eyes fluttering, dark grey and heavy.

“Blaine?” His whisper is plaintive and hopeful, fingers clutching at Blaine’s arms and something inside of Blaine cracks a little, at the sound.

“I’m here.” He breathes it out, the words invisible ghosts running over Kurt’s skin, and his face relaxes infinitesimally. Kurt burrows in, burying his face in Blaine’s neck. Kurt’s skin is sleep warm and his body lose in a way he can never achieve when awake, no matter how many dance classes he’s taken.

“I’m here.” Kurt is waking up in earnest now, limbs stiffening a little, shocks of awareness and memory sparking through his muscles.

“You’re here.” Kurt’s voice isn’t flat, exactly, and not quite questioning, but there’s something, an undercurrent that Blaine might just be too tired to catch. Frowning, he takes Kurt’s hand, now ring-less, and threads his fingers through.

“I’m here.” Kurt looks down at their hands, seeing the white line, a memory of where Blaine’s ring once was. When his eyes fill, Blaine presses into his space.

“No, it’s ok. Here.” He fishes behind him, on the bedside table, for his ring. After checking the inscription to be sure it is his, he hands it to Kurt, closing Kurt’s matching ring with it’s separate inscription in his hand.

“I want you to hold onto this. I want it back when it’s right.”

Kurt pulls back, taking the ring with both hands, tracing the circle of gold. Blaine thinks of those chains, hopelessly snagged, in his mothers jewelry box. He’s anticipating long months of delicate work, unwinding every strand of doubt and jealousy and hurting they’ve gotten themselves trapped in. But he wants to take more care, more care than his mother had, with these rings, with their lives, with their selves. So when the moment is right and he knows they’ve done it, unwound it all, he wants them both to make that promise to take more care in the future.

“I’m in this Kurt. It won’t be easy, but I know now…I think I know now where to start. I know you’ve put the ball in my court, if you’ll pardon the sporting metaphor,” a ghost of a smile crosses his face at Kurt’s annoyed laugh, “Jan said something last night…it wasn’t really important, but it made me realize..” Kurt waits as Blaine thinks, body shifting slightly closer, so that his knee is touching Blaine’s thigh, and Blaine smiles. He thinks of the small bridge, a temporary way to span the space between them, and presses his leg just a little closer.

“It made me realize I was looking in the wrong direction. I was thinking about you cheating, worrying about other men and if you were going to do it again. And honestly, I know that won’t happen. I know it won’t ever happen again, I’ve known, somewhere, the whole time.” At Kurt’s raised eyebrow, a question unspoken but heard all the same, Blaine sighs,

“Maybe it was easier, to believe that’s what it was? Maybe it was easier to believe in something that would never be true, because the truth hurts so much worse?” He doesn’t stop the tears that begin to gather, leaning into Kurt’s cool fingers as they brush them away, touch tendersoft and tentative. The next words are hard, and Blaine can feel that block, that weight in his chest and mouth that makes him want to stop, to pull away. But Kurt is still holding his ring; his finger feels naked without it, he feels naked without it. Blaine closes his eyes and takes a breath and lets the words out on the exhale, rushing through them.

“The truth is that you broke the trust. Not the trust that you wouldn’t cheat, but that thing, that thing between us that was just always there. That thing that made me feel safe and loved and like I never had to question that I had a place with you and in your life and that I just belonged and that we just belong.” Opening his eyes, Blaine examines Kurt’s face, white and a little shocked and creased with hurting.

“I want that back, and we need to both want it back and I know now what was missing and that we both do. I…it’s not there, quite yet. I just…need more time. But I am here with you, and you are here with me and I know that if we just stay with each other we can make our way through this, right?”

Kurt nods frantically, placing his long fingers and smooth palms on his cheeks, rough stubbled,

“Yes. Please, Blaine, yes.” And Blaine is nodding too and they are both crying, but just a little, looking into each others eyes. “You’ll give me the ring when you’re there, ok?”

“Yes.” And now Blaine kisses him. Because it isn’t perfect, and they both still hurt, and Blaine still aches for this thing that they’ve lost, that Kurt broke, but he wants it back more than he wants his anger and pain and distrust, no matter how justified he is in having those feelings. When Kurt kisses him back it’s sweet and tentative and for a moment Blaine feels sixteen again, kissing Kurt for the first time in the commons room, unsure and afraid but brave enough to take the leap.


	14. Chapter 14

They hold each other, filling the morning with gentle touches and a profound and sheltering silence. It isn’t waiting, there’s nothing missing. They fill the spaces between them and around them with hope, with faith in a future together, in the idea of rebuilding what’s been damaged. As light floods the room, they slip into sleep, fingers and legs tangled. For the first time in months, Blaine finally feels really and truly at rest; the nagging worry that’s been hanging over him is gone, leaving behind only exhaustion and relief.

Blaine wakes to the sound of Kurt singing in the shower. Kurt sounds happy and there is something very familiar and comforting about the whole scene. His phone signals an alert on the table next to his head- a text from Jan asking if everything is alright. Rolling over, Blaine finds himself surrounded by Kurt’s smell, smiling a little. There is a part of him that is still reeling, still wondering if they’ve made a mistake, taking off their rings. A part of him that feels tender and bruised, realizing how deeply Kurt’s actions had damaged their relationship, how horribly he’s managed to mangle what was left.

His thumb hovers over the screen, intending to text back. He’s thinking about Kurt and the promises he’s made all along, to try harder, to move on. The way he’s been waiting for some magical…thing…to happen, some moment when he’ll just feel better and everything between them will be ok. That’s not happening, he knows this now. He opens the pictures stored on his phone, smiling ruefully. He’d said he’d delete them when this was over, as if over was this place, a line in the sand that he could cross over definitively and forever. Blaine doesn’t know when this will really be over, when they’ll well and truly be past this. For now though, he feels like they’ve taken their first real steps, and that’s enough.

It’s enough, enough to have him steeling himself, breathless and tense, as he deletes the pictures. They are nothing more than moments in a past he doesn’t want to relive any more than he wants to recall the moments after the Sadie Hawkin’s dance or the day in the movie theater when some homophobe had dumped a soda all over him and Kurt. Right now, all that matters is their future, and these pictures don’t have any place there.

Kurt comes in, still humming a little, then smiling a bit more when he sees Blaine is awake. Blaine motions him over to the bed with a hand, and curious, Kurt comes to sit next to him, still wrapped in a damp towel. For a moment, Blaine lets himself be distracted by the droplets of water chasing his skin in the early afternoon sunshine, wanting to trace the rivulets left behind with his fingers, then his tongue.

“Hey.” Kurt nudges him with a shoulder, wondering what Blaine is staring at him so hard for, what he is thinking.

“Hey,” Blaine tugs on Kurt’s arm, laying back, pulling Kurt with him to that they lie face to face on their bed.

“Blaine, I’m all wet and this towel is too.” Kurt protests weakly, already settling in next to Blaine, hands folded under his face on the pillow. Blaine just looks at him, taking in Kurt’s shower fresh face, so young with his hair plastered all over the place. He runs his fingers through the clumps, wanting to feel the heat of Kurt’s skin, the vibrations of his pulse underneath, alive and present and his.

“When’s your audition?” He asks quietly. His eyes are on Kurt’s, seeing them widen and then blink slowly.

“I- I’m not” Kurt stammers.

“No.” Blaine speaks emphatically, looking deep into Kurt’s eyes, hand gentle against the side of his face. “We’re not doing that. When is your audition?”

“Tuesday…but Blaine, really, maybe its better if-“

“If what?” Blaine interrupts,, “If you just give up the things you love for me? If you just stop doing what makes you, you, just because I’m a neurotic mess?” Kurt is shaking his head, taking Blaine’s hand off the side of his face.

“No. You aren’t a neurotic mess, at all. I made a mistake, and I’m willing to do whatever it takes to fix it.” Blaine’s lips part a little and he sighs, leaning in to press them to Kurt’s cheeck.

“It shouldn’t take this. Kurt, I want us to find a way to be ok, and if you start changing for me, keep changing for me..it’s just…it won’t work.” Blaine’s hands are cupping Kurt’s face, fingers almost bruising along Kurt’s jaw as he wiggles closer, “I don’t want anyone but you. You the way you are, or were. I might get mad. Or jealous, or irrational. But I know better now, enough to say what’s going on when I’m feeling it. Enough to know that we’ll never get that trust back if we both don’t meet halfway. You can’t keep doing all of it, chasing me and changing and turning yourself inside out. I don’t want you to, I’m sorry if I ever made you feel like that was what I wanted.”

Kurt’s tears spill over Blaine’s fingers, and for a moment he just breathes, eyes closed, leaning into the head of Blaine’s body.

“I want you to go out with your friends again, and to try out for that musical, and to do all the things and say all the things Kurt Hummel would any day, any time, without worrying that you’ll make me mad.” Kurt’s forehead against his lips is moving slightly as he nods.

“I might get mad, or upset, but it’s ok. I’m not going to leave you, and we’ll work through it. I’m not leaving Kurt.” He shakes Kurt’s head a little, and Kurt looks into his eyes, “I’m not leaving.” His words are sure and emphatic.

When they kiss, it is everything this moment means- soft and tender, an exchange of self and trust. Everything they do, every movement and breath is careful and measured. They don’t hurry, taking time to watch each other, to listen carefully to exclamations and pleas. When Blaine pulls Kurt toward him and over him, eyes wide and fingers trembling, he doesn’t need to ask for anything.

And then Kurt is inside him, finally inside him, for the first time in months. Blaine’s body shakes, tremors of pleasure and fear and tremendous love firing through him. He’s gasping into Kurt’s open mouth, feeling Kurt’s tears falling onto his face, fingers in his hair, gasping and breathing him in and breathing them in and thinking, finally. Finally, as if some invisible tether that’s been keeping them separate is coming lose, Kurt losing himself inside Blaine, each feeling the pulse of life and blood where they are most connected.

It isn’t the end, he thinks later, staring at his phone from the safe circle of Kurt’s arms, wrapped around him where Kurt was is nestled up against his back. It’s a beginning.


	15. Chapter 15

It’s a little bit of stop and start after that. Weeks of closeness and tenderness and a feeling of being open and able to breathe, and it’s like a sigh. The kind when you sink into a bathtub, warm and all of the stress you’re carrying is just washed away.

Sometimes there are stops. Nights when Kurt comes home from rehearsal and Blaine feels tense and unsure, uncomfortable with the idea of Kurt and Jason sharing any sort of space together. Nights out with Kurt’s friends when he sits on pins and needles, waiting for Jason to show up, smug and knowing and trying to insinuate himself in Kurt’s life.

But there are other moments. Other days that make up for quite a lot. The day that Kurt finally has enough and slaps Jason, hard, in the middle of rehearsal, is priceless and in the wake of Blaine’s easing fears, hilarious. That night, Blaine lies awake, thankful and a little turned on, marveling that he can think about Jason in the context of laughter. When he turns to Kurt, pulling him in and waking him with rough lips and love laced fingers, Kurt doesn’t complain, breathing relief and wanting onto Blaine’s warm skin. They don’t speak about it, but both of them had been waiting for these moments, easy and comfortable, yearning, and each reunion is completion and promise and terrifyingly intimate.

The worst are the days when Kurt hasn’t done anything. When Kurt is nothing short of flawlessly beautiful and composed on his way to classes, portfolio heavy under his arm, and Blaine has to stop himself from grabbing him and sucking a dark bruise on his neck. Has to restrain himself before he pushes Kurt against a wall, whispering words like mine, and no one else. These are days when Blaine is short tempered, finding fault with everything, dragging them both through pointless arguments. These days usually end with them on the couch, facing each other, Kurt forcing him to talk, pushing until Blaine manages to find some way, some words, to express how insecure and scared he feels.

They do this, this cycle of loving and arguing. And Kurt is brilliant, patient and ready. He is so much stronger, Blaine realizes, so much more sure of who he is, so much more resilient than he. Blaine has the presence of mind, at least, to be grateful for Kurt’s patience because he knows that he’s been trying it, and often. He’s even more grateful for the day when Kurt finally gives in to his exasperation and snaps, giving in to the full weight of his sharp words and sarcasm, all jerky hands and sudden movement, pushing and pushing and pushing at Blaine’s buttons. He’s Kurt at his very best, raised voice and bitchy face, asking when Blaine is going to grow up enough to figure out how to talk about his feelings without having to hold his hand like a child. Wondering when Blaine is going to man up and deal with his feelings.

Before he knows it, Kurt finds his Marc Jacobs shirt is torn and he’s on his knees, not by force but by choice, begging with his hands and eyes, begging Blaine to just give in, digging his fingers and nails into Blaine’s ass, each nail prick a sharp little question mark. And so Blaine answers, fucking into Kurt’s mouth careless and rough, hands in Kurt’s hair and ears deaf to all but the roaring of his blood. When it is over he pulls Kurt close, where they lay on the floor, he’s a little ashamed and, somehow, proud. Kurt laughs weakly, kissing Blaine with a sweetness that seems far outside the situation. Kurt carries bruises for days.

But it’s ok, because he buries and soothes Blaine’s embarrassment and apologies the next morning, fingers tracing over inches of creamy soft skin, marked and owned and Kurt is so obviously turned on and smug and they both realize, for the first time, that they are ok with it. With the idea of ownership because it’s a road that goes both ways. When Kurt looks at him, fingers pressed into the bruises on his hips, his eyes are dark and smiling and they both know how helpless Blaine is as well.

That night, in bed, Kurt kisses him so sweetly, and he can’t breathe. Can’t breath for the force of love and acceptance and understanding. 

“Why aren’t you angry?” He whispers into the giving of Kurt’s skin, wondering how it could ever be acceptable, rough treatment and ownership and Kurt is laughing, fingers running all over him. Blaine shivers in their wake, looking into Kurt’s eyes, wonderful green in the barely lit room. “Why do you seem so happy about this?”

“I just want you to feel what you are feeling, Blaine. I want you to be angry when you feel it. I want you to tell me. I’m not fragile, you won’t break me.” They stare at each other for long moments, Blaine’s heart beating painfully hard, so aware of his failings and weaknesses.

“I know you aren’t.” He whispers it, turning his face and hiding in the curve of Kurt’s neck, feeling young and unsure, “I’m the one who is weak.” 

They stop talking then, Blaine kissing away Kurt’s denials, threading fingers into Kurt’s hair and skin and tangling himself so deep, so deep in love with this man.

It isn’t always perfect. Because they have work to do, and Blaine, Blaine has a lot of learning to do. About himself, and who he thinks he is. Somehow,some where in these past six years, he’s come to depend on Kurt too much. Come to see himself and depend on himself as a part of a bigger unit in a way that has almost destroyed him. Kurt’s actions shook them, but they almost destroyed Blaine. The realization that he didn’t even know himself unless it was as an extension of Kurt, as a part of that unit, KurtandBlaine, is a scary one. He knows now, the he needs to learn. To depend on Kurt again, to trust him again, but without being so dangerously co dependant. Without losing himself as an autonomous person. To be a part of a unit and whole within himself.

And there are times when they have to sit down, distance carefully placed between them on the couch. When they talk into the night, and the words are hard and often one or both of them ends up crying. When they unpack their problems and examine them. They talk about Blaine’s father and their relationship, why Blaine has needed this, this oneness with Kurt that he’d idealized and built up and depended on far too much.

It’s disheartening for them both when these nights come to a close and Blaine has to carefully repack those problems, not quite ready to let go yet, still working to build that bridge, stacking words and promises and tentative feelings of safety into something that is almost shaped like trust. Blaine had tried to explain the bridge metaphor, but there had been something thrown in there about jewelry and tying Kurt up (only not in a sexy way) and he hadn’t really been able to articulate any of it clearly, so Kurt had just smiled and held his hand and trusted that this was going to work.

These are nights when they go to bed wrapped in silence, alone. Kurt takes solace in Blaine’s presence in their bed, warm and heavy in sleep, but too far away. They don’t reach for each other on these nights; they wait. Kurt lies awake, renewing his promise to never again go to bed angry. This isn’t anger, it’s patience and deep, abiding love. He watches Blaine dreaming, finger’s tracing the air just over his heart, the lines of his veins, waiting.


	16. Epilogue

It had been one of those rare days in March, warm and dry, sun shimmering through the kind of cerulean sky New York rarely saw. They’d spent the day cooped in their apartment, music in the background, windows open, longing to go out. Instead they responsibly worked through various projects, Blaine was studying harder in law school than he had preparing to go to law school, often spending hours in the same position at their little table, fingers cramping over the keyboard of his computer.  
  
As he so often did, Kurt would come around, gathering coffee cups and setting a glass of water down and some sort of healthy snack on the table next to him, chiding Blaine to put something healthy in his body.  Blaine loves these moments, comfortable and cared for, when Kurt nags him away from his studies, taking his hands and massaging his fingers, reminding him absently to eat while telling him amusing stories.  
  
That night, Kurt drags him away from his books, complaining that it’s a Saturday, that they needed a break, away from home,  
  
“We’ve missed all the sunshine, we’re starting to mold in here, come on it’s going to be a beautiful night.” Blaine lets himself be led, standing back and watching Kurt move with purpose around their apartment. Warmth spreads through his chest; Kurt is pulling on dark jeans and debating the weather appropriateness of a shirt he’s been dying to try and Blaine falls in love. It’s been seven years of falling in love over and over again and this time it’s like he’s been hit by a truck, he loves this man so much and he has to turn quickly to hide his tears from Kurt.  
  
In the bathroom he runs the water, leaning over the sink and exhaling long and slow.  
 _Thank God_ , he thinks.  
  
Two weeks later he’s somehow managed to manipulate Kurt into thinking that he’s coerced Blaine into an open mic night at the café they used to frequent.  They make a night of it, inviting some of Kurt’s friends from his old theater troupe, new associates he’s met at his internship, Jan and even some of Blaine’s law school group. Even Rachel manages to come, happy to find that her day off coincided with their plans.    
  
Blaine’s plan is simple. He starts with Teenage Dream, pared down on his guitar, winding his way through A Case of You, which never fails to make Kurt blush and smile. The song is a memory, sparking between them, and it is a moment so intimate, made more so by the presence of so many others, people watching and enjoying with no real idea, clueless to the subtext and wanting Blaine’s voice is layering into the air. By the time he gets to Somewhere Only We Know, his heart is pounding harder than he’s ever felt it beating in his life. He thinks of his ring, the ring Kurt now holds, words inscribed in the band, and the terrible force of longing and loving inside his self. He manages to get through, barely, fingers shaking and voice just shy of steady. One look at Kurt and he knows he’s got him; Kurt’s eyes are bright and his smile- he’s smiling that smile, the one that is only for Blaine, unguarded and wide, teeth showing. The kind of smile that crinkles the corners of his eyes and makes his nose scrunch up.  
  
So when Blaine gestures toward Brian, who hops up on stage to take the guitar, he’s not surprised by Kurt’s puzzled frown.  
  
“Hey everyone,” Blaine has to steady his voice, wrapping his hands around the mic stand to hide the trembling. “My friend Brian here is gonna help me out. I have one more song, and it’s really kind of special to me. So, Kurt, baby, it shouldn’t be hard to figure out, but pay attention ok?”  Blaine laughs a little at Kurt’s face, flushed red, and Kurt is covering it with a dismayed hand, pretending embarrassed as people turn to look at them but sort of preening a little. It’s such a Kurt thing, Blaine breathes out a little easier because he knows the answers to every question he has, and they all start and end with loving Kurt.  
  
The song starts quiet; Blaine works to reign in his emotions. He’s pretty sure Kurt hasn’t heard this song before, grateful for the quiet atmosphere of the café, knowing Kurt is hearing each word. He starts to feel his body shaking midway through ( _I love it when you sing to me, and you, you can sing me anything_ ) and by the time he’s made it to the break, he can feel tears running down his cheeks. So he breathes through the notes, looking back up and into Kurt’s eyes  _(But I, I love it when you give me things, And you, You ought to give me wedding rings_ ) growing wider and wider and spilling over with tears and by the time he’s gotten to the end of the song he can barely sing, can hardly see Kurt through his tears and trembling and Kurt is in his arms, pressed up hard against him, bodies shaking together.  
  
And they don’t care, they don’t hear the whistles and cheers from the patrons, lost together, lips and fingers and breathing into each other. When Blaine pulls out the ring, carefully stowed in his pocket, the noise around them breaks through and he looks up, stunned and happy. With a laugh, he pulls Kurt closer, leaning into the mic.  
  
“I know I said he ought to give me wedding rings, but…” He lets his voice trail off, question unspoken, turning to Kurt with his ring in hand and Kurt is laughing and crying and pulling Blaine’s ring out of his pocket. They kiss once more, sweet and close and Kurt whispers in his ear,  
  
“I’ve been keeping it on me. Waiting.”  And when Blaine hugs him close, too close, its hard and hurts and that’s ok because they’re in this together now. He thinks of all the lines they had to cross, all the ways they’ve managed to tie each other in knots and make a mess of things. The painstaking work, taking it all apart, putting it back together again. These rings, their hearts, and all the ways he wants to bind his life with Kurt’s, all the ties holding them together- rarely simple, but lasting.


End file.
